"Well, I'll tell you one," he said, and he trotted out the following.
In a small seaside town on the east coast an ancient mariner sits on the
beach and yarns to visitors. When the Balkan War was going on my friend
asked him if he had ever been to Turkey. My friend assured me that the
man had never been farther than Newcastle in his life.
"Man," said the mariner reflectively, "Aw mind when an order cam from
the Sultan o' Turkey to the sweetie works here for peppermints. The
manager cam doon to me and he says to me, says he: 'Man, Jock, Aw wonder
if ye would care to tak oot a cargo o' peppermints to the Sultan o'
Turkey?'"
"Aweel, the 'Daisy' was lyin' in the harbour at the time, so Aw says
that Aw wud tak them oot.
"Weel, we got them aboard, and awa we sailed, and a damned rough
passage we had too; man, the Bay o' Biscay was as bad as Aw've ever seen
it.
"Weel, we got to Constantinople, and here was the Sultan stannin' on the
pier wi' his hands in his breek pooches. He cam aboard and said he wud
like to hae a look o' the peppermints. He had a look o' them, and syne
he comes up to me and he says: 'Look here, captain, Aw've been haein' a
look o' yer crew, and ... weel, to tell the truth, Aw dinna like the
look o' them; there's not wan that Aw wud like to trust up at the harem.
So, captain, Aw was just thinkin' that Aw wud like ye to carry up thae
peppermints yersel ... ye're a married man, are ye no?'
"Aw telt him that Aw was, and Aw started to carry up thae peppermints,
and a damned hard job it was, man. They werena the ordinary pepperies,
ye ken; they were great muckle things like curlin' stanes. Weelaweel, Aw
got them a' carried up, and Aw was standin' wipin' the sweat frae my
face when the Sultan comes anower to me.
"'Aye, captain,' says he, 'that'll be dry wark?'
"'Yes, sir,' says I, 'gey dry.'
"'Are ye a 'totaller?' says he.
"'No,' says I, and he taks me by the arm and says: 'C'wa and hae a nip!'
"Weel, we gaed into a pub, and he ordered twa nips ... aye, and damned
guid whiskey it was too. We had another twa nips, and Aw'm standin' wi'
the Sultan at the door, just aboot to shak hands wi' him, ye ken, and he
says to me, says he: 'Captain, wud ye like to see the harem?' and Aw
said Aw wud verra much. So he taks haud o' my arm and we goes up the
brae. We cam to a great muckle hoose, and he taks a gold key oot o' his
pooch, and opens the door.
"Man, Aw never saw the likes o' yon! The floor was a' gold, and the
window-blinds was gold. And the wemen! (The mariner conveyed his
admiration by a long whistle.)
"Weel, Aw was standin' just inside the door wi' my bonnet in my hand,
when a bonny bit lassie comes up to me and threw hersell at my feet and
took haud o' my knees and sang: 'Far awa to bonny Scotland!'
"Man, the tears cam into my een as she was singin'.
"Syne the Sultan turns to me.
"'Aye, man,' he says, says he, 'speakin' aboot Scotland: Scotland's the
finest country on earth; but there's wan thing Aw canna stand aboot
Scotland, and that's yer dawmed green kail. There's no a continental
stammick will haud it doon.'"
My friend informed me that he never met an Englishman who appreciated
that yarn.
* * *
I begin to wonder whether I am falling in love. Ever since Margaret
blushed when she passed me on the brae I have been extremely conscious
of her existence. I find that I am beginning to look for her, and I go
to the dairy on the flimsiest of pretences. I was there three times this
afternoon.
"What do you want this time?" she asked with a laugh at my third
appearance.
"I hardly know," I said slowly, "but I think I wanted to see your bare
arms again."
She hastily drew down her sleeves and reddened; then to cover her
confusion she made a show of putting me out forcibly. How I managed to
refrain from kissing her tempting lips I don't know. I nearly fell ...
but it suddenly came to me that a kiss might mean so very much to her
and so little to me and ... I resisted the temptation.
She is fast losing her shyness, and she talks to me with growing
frankness. She has begun to read much lately, and she devours penny
novelettes with avidity. She has a romantic mind, and my realism
sometimes shocks her. I happened to meet her in town last Saturday, and
I took her to the pictures. She was intensely moved by a romantic film
story, and when I explained that the stuff was rank sentimentalism and
rhetoric she seemed to be offended.
"You criticise everything," she cried angrily, "don't you believe that
there is any good in the world?"
"You will never be happy," she added seriously, "you criticise too
much."
"Surely," I cried, "you don't imagine that I criticise you!"
"I do," she said bitterly. "You criticise yourself and me and
everybody. I am always in terror that I make a slip in grammar before
you."
"Margaret!" I cried with real sorrow, "I hate to think that I have given
you that impression."