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"Thirteen pounds for this fine bullock; thirteen-five; thirteen-ten; thirteen-ten for this fine bullock; thirteen-ten; any further bids on thirteen-ten? why, it's worth that for the colour o't; thank ye, sir thirteen-fifteen; fourteen pounds; fourteen pounds for this fine bullock; see how the stot stots about the ring; that joke should raise him another half-sovereign; ah, I knew it would fourteen-five; fourteen-five for this fine bullock; fourteen-ten; no more than fourteen-ten for this fine bullock; going at fourteen-ten; gone Irrendavie."
"I'll gi'e ye seven-and-six," said Wilson, and slapped his long thin flexible bank-book far too ostentatiously against the knuckles of his left hand. "But but," stammered Irrendavie, suspicious still, but melting at the offer, "you have no means of storing cheese." "Oh," said Wilson, getting in a fine one at Gourlay, "there's no drawback in that!
Some folk, no doubt, like to build monuments to their own pride, but I'm not one of that kind; there's not enough sense in that to satisfy a man like me. My offer doesna hold, you understand, unless you deliver the cheese at Skeighan Station. Do you accept the condition?" "Oh yes," said Irrendavie, "I'm willing to agree to that."
"I seh!" roared Brodie in his coarsest voice, from the side of the ring opposite to Gourlay. "I seh, owctioner! That maun be a College-bred stot, from the way he behaves. He flung dirt at his masters, and had to be expelled." "Put Brodie in the ring and rowp him!" cried Irrendavie. "He roars like a bill, at ony rate."
That was the first telegram ever seen in Barbie, and it had been brought by special messenger from Skeighan. It was short and to the point. It ran: "Will buy 300 stone cheese 8 shillings stone delivery at once," and was signed by a merchant in Poltandie. Gourlay was talking to old Tarmillan of Irrendavie, when Wilson pushed in and addressed Tarmillan, without a glance at the grain-merchant.
"Have you a kane o' cheese to sell, Irrendavie?" was his blithe salutation. "I have," said Irrendavie, and he eyed him suspiciously. For what was Wilson speiring for? He wasna a cheese-merchant. "How much the stane are ye seeking for't?" said Wilson. "I have just been asking Mr. Gourlay here for seven-and-six," said Irrendavie, "but he winna rise a penny on the seven!"
There was a laugh at Brodie, true; but it was at Gourlay that a hundred big red faces turned to look. He did not look at them, though. He sent his eyes across the ring at Brodie. "Lord!" said Irrendavie, "it's weel for Brodie that the ring's acqueesh them! Gourlay'll murder somebody yet. Red hell lap out o' his e'en when he looked at Brodie."
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