"Haud yere tongue, and write what I dictate, then, sir--wha's first? Ay, Mr Wanderson. Let me see--an IHL hinge, a negro lock, and a bottle of blister flies, to Mr Wanderson. He's always giving poor people help and medicine, and he'll ne'er notice them. Wha's neist?" "The custos, sir." "Ay, the custos," said the voice; "a jovial chiel is his honour--so, so--just clap doon, item, twa _pawtent_ corkscrews. He's no very muckle gien to payin', but ne'er mind--I'll _screw_ it out o' him in rum and plantains." And here the creature laughed an "eldritch laugh," sounding more like _keck, keck, keck_, than any common cachinnation. "Wha's neist?" "Jolliffe and Backhouse." "Ay, braw English lads are they baith; leeberal chiels, and fond o' guid eating--clap a round o' Jew beef on the tap o' _their_ saydel.--Keck, keck, keck. Wha's neist?" "Skinflint and Peasemeal, sir." "Bah--nasty Scotch bodies" (and what may you be, thought I); "and weel I wot I would be glad to saydel them--keck, keck--but they'll no be fitted that gate, I trow--they are owre gleg; sell them a loose, and if he wanted a leg or the fud--my certie, let abee findin' it oot, they wad plea it afore they payed it--sae pass them ower. But wait awee--I am loath to let Skinflint escape after aw. Hoo mony grunstanes did their cart ca' for the other day?" "Two dozen, sir." "Twa dizzen--twa dizzen grunstanes, did ye say?--herd ony mortal the like o' that--four-and-twenty grunstanes! What can they do wi' sae mony? they maun surely mack soup o' them, or feed their negers wi' them, or maybe they grind their noses on them, ay, that'll be it--keck, keck--Did you send an invoice wi' the cart, Saunders?" "No, sir; the man went away without it." "Vera weel." "The cart upset on the way home, sir, and broke several of the stones, I hear." "Better and better--mak the _twa dizzen three_, Saunders; surely they'll no piece the broken anes thegither to check the tally--the extra dizzen will aboot balance a saydel, Saunders. So, if we canna fit them wi' a saydel, we'll tak a ride aff them bare-backed.--Keck, keck, keck. Wha's neist?" "Gabriel Juniper, sir." "Fashious, drucken neerdoweel--wash his saydel down wi' a gallon o' gin and twa o' brandy. He'll no be able to threep wi' me, for he's amaist aye drunk noo--sin' he couldna keep his ain saydel the last time I saw him on horseback, it's but richt he should pay for the lost ane--Keck, keck, keck. Noo, Saunders, ye're a decent lad, sae satisfy yere conscience, and mind ye gie up, in shape o' discoont, at the settlement, the amount o' aw the _fictitious_ items, _barring_ the saydels and the grunstanes, though--mind that--barring the saydels and the grunstanes. Noo, soom up and close, ye deevil--soom up and close." "Ah, custos," said Mr Turner, as the gentleman we were waiting for entered, "glad to see you, glad to see you." Here, having explained how matters stood, his honour retired with us into Jacob Munroe's back store.