Bargain Counter

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 223, 19 September 1940, Page 23

Bargain Counter

SHORT STORY : : : BY A. COUCH

ipAN I 'ave 'arf a pound of bacon, mister, please?" The question drifted across the counr in a mournful whine. It was with ifiiculty that George Mathieson, the rocer, concealed his disgust. He had been open now for nearly three >urs. During which time he had served jout a dozen customers. And half of lent "book" people—who might pay ieir accounts, eventually—or might not. The whiner, George noted, was an nattractive female of doubtful age and «8 than doubful cleanliness. If not a amp, then second cousin to one. "An' look 'ere, mister. I 'aven't got no ioney, not on me." (Here George looked rim.) "But I want the bacon for me le mother. Badly, I do. An' I'll leave liis'ero until I come back to pay you. •on't mind, mister, do you?" The concluding requeet had the uthentic tone of the professional •heedler. The grimy female mysteriusly produced an old violin which she lid reverently on the counter. "Well, anyhow. I can't lose on the ransaction," reflected George glumly. Vithout a word he proceeded to slice off lie required amount of pig's meat. "Sixpenrr." he growied, wrapping it up nd slapping it down. "MiN'h obliged, mister. Shan't be long fore 1 come* back to pay you." And she shambled out. Fifteen minutes later George was all miles and palmrubbing. A faultlessly ressed man of early middle age, oozing irosperity, stood facing him. A man i'ith the assured manner of one who is ccustomed to have his lightest requeet reated with unhesitating respect. "Yes, sir?" George beamed profeseion.ll y through his gold-rimmed spectacles. The stranger replied in the crisp and ultured tonee which George had antici•ated from his appearance. "I'm staynig here a day or two. Tolight I'm giving a dinner party at my oome. I have rather a large order for row." "Certainly, eir." George promptly inparked a pencil from behind his right iar. Unqtiestionably a large order. A very ong time since George could remember me to compare with it. This would uetify him in buying an ounce or two of hat favourite tobacco which he had had ;o deny himself for some weeks past. The old violin was still lying on the ihelf where George had contemptuously >estowed it. He noticed the stranger syeing it with some interest. "You a musician?" he asked with a genial smile. "No, sir. That wae left here by a cue;omer who's calling back for it." "Really? I'm interested in violins. Mind if I have a look at it?" "With pleasure, sir." And George, bowing obsequiously from the hips, handed it over. "Give you a fiver for it," offered the 3tranger, after a .brief but careful jxamination. "Sorry, sir. Afraid it's not mine to sell." "Pity. Would you accept ten?" George was sorely tempted. Money was money. But he didn't feel sure how he'd stand with the law over a transaction of that sort.

The prosperous stranger, however, proved persistent. His offer went up by leaps and bounds. "Look here," he exclaimed at last, "I'm an expert hi violins. This is a genuine Guanarius. Will you take two hundred for it? That's my final offer." Cynics assert that every man has his price. Perhaps two hundred pounds was George's. Anyhow, he felt that he could hold out no longer. '"Very well, sir," he gasped. "Shall I send it with the goods?" "Please, if you will. In an hour from now ? Not sooner, or I shan't be there. I'll pay on delivery." "Very good, sir," beamed George. "Thank you., sir. Good day, sir." George ni-pped his damp brow "with a large spotted red and white handkerchief.

'"Phew!" he muttered. "So miracles still happen. That female'll be glad of a river for it, no doubt. Which means one-ninety-five profit for me. Jiminy!" Within ten minutes the grimy female returned, and planked sixpence on the counter.

"Thank you kindly, sir," she whined. "And now can I 'ave the fiddle back?" George cleared his throat raucously. "I—er—l've taken a fancy," he whispered confidentially, "to that —er —instrument. Id like'to buy it. Will you take two pounds for it?" "Couldn't do it. sir," she smiled wanly. "Sort of family heirloom, like. Got sentimental associations, if you take my meaning." And she dabbed at her eyes with a filtliv handkerchief.

But George was no more to be denied than his aristocratic customer had been. Pound by pound he cautiously roee. Still she held out.

But she, too, had her price. For twenty pounds the Guanarius passed, temporarily, into George's possession. It pretty well cleared out his till. But what of that? Hadn't he £180 coming in to replace what was gone? She snuffled out of the shop, clutching the notes with grimy fingers, dabbing at her eyee with the filthy handkerchief.

About an hour afterwards George's little delivery van drew up outside. "They don't know nothing about no Major Pemberton, not at that address they don't, sir," announced the man gloomily with a negative.

At that moment George came nearer to fainting than he had ever done in all his life.

That evening, in the Golden Hind at Staunton, some ten miles from Pottlebury, a man and a woman sat dining, well content.

The man was early middle-aged, clean shaven, debonair. The woman waa young and uncommonly pretty. Impossible to conceive a more striking contrast between her and the drab who had shambled into George Mathieeon's shop at Pottlebury earlier in the day. "You know, Harold," she smiled sweetly, "I feel almost sorry for that poor grocer man."

Her companion's laugh was lightly contemptuous.

''Why waete sympathy on a sweep who deliberately tried to diddle you out of a hundred and eighty perfectly good pounds sterling, Maisie?" To which question Maisie could find no answer.