“Yes, yes; he’s always trying to bargain. That’s what has got him such a
bad name here. Constantly on the look-out to turn a penny. Well, do you
buy the pony?”
“Yes, sir,” said I; “we settled about that this morning at breakfast.
Shall have to trouble you for the needful, as he would like to be paid
in the course of the day.”
“In the course of the day? Oh, very well. The cashier may as well give
it you at once. Stop; I’ll write you an order. At the same time, I feel
it my duty to say this to you; mind and take a receipt. How much will
you draw?”
“I suppose, sir, the usual allowance granted by Government, eighty
dollars. That, he said, of course.”
“What! Eighty dollars for that beast of a pony? Why, Mr Y—, one would
think you had come out direct from England! Saddle and bridle in? Of
course.”
“No, sir; we are to settle about the saddle and bridle to-morrow. Said
he didn’t know what he _ought_ to ask for them.”
“Ought!—a rascal! He knows very well, when you’ve got the pony, you
_must_ have the saddle and bridle. Don’t know of a saddle that would
suit Sancho, in all Passages. Well, Mr Y—; I feel it my duty to say this
to you—it’s a regular take-in. Sixty dollars I should call a high
figure, saddle and bridle included. If you can sell at headquarters for
forty, you may think yourself well off.”
“Hadn’t I better go and pitch into him, sir?”
“Pitch into him? Nonsense. That won’t do here, Mr Y—. Besides, a
bargain’s a bargain, you know. If you have said eighty, it must be
eighty. Have you looked out for a fresh billet?”
“Didn’t know there was any occasion, sir.”
“You don’t expect to pass another night in your present quarters, after
you have paid for Sancho? If you complete the purchase this morning,
depend upon it, you’ll have to get other accommodation before bed-time.”
“I’m rather at a loss how to proceed, sir.”
“Why, let me see. I must consider. Go and tell him—yes—go and tell him,
for that money you ought to have saddle and bridle in. Tell him so, from
me. We must try and be a match for this gentleman. Don’t think it right
that your uncle’s nephew, the moment he joins, should be pigeoned at
this rate. Stop—tell him, at the same time, you can’t purchase till the
day you’re off. Under all the circumstances of the case, I feel it my
duty to say this to you; till then, I shall keep the eighty dollars in
the military chest. While you’re here, he may as well have the bother of
keeping Sancho as you. And, besides, while the bargain’s open—don’t you
see?—you won’t be disturbed in your quarters. If you lose them, the
place is so crowded, ten to one I shall be forced to accommodate you
_myself_.”
Charged with what promised to prove an awkward negotiation, I walked off
to find my friend. Nothing of the kind. He took it all with the greatest
good-humour; consented with alacrity to throw in the saddle and bridle;
and as to the money, why, if it wasn’t forthcoming at once, he could
wait till it was.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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