“I wish somebody would leave me some money,” said Jinnet, “and the first
thing I would dae wi’t would be to buy ye a new topcoat. That yin’s
Erchie gettin’ gey shabby, and that glazed I can almaist see my face in
the back o’t.”
“Then ye’re weel aff,” said Erchie, “for there’s seldom ye’ll see a
bonnier yin in a better lookin’-gless.”
“Oh, ye auld haver!” cried Jinnet, pushing him. “I wonder ye divna think
shame to be talkin’ like a laddie to his first lass; and me jist a done
auld body! If I could jist get a shape I wad buy a remnant and mak’ ye a
topcoat mysel’. I could dae’t quite easy.”
“I ken fine that,” said her husband, “but I’ll bate ye would put the
buttons on the wrang side, the way ye did wi’ yon waistcoat. It’s a
droll thing aboot weemen’s claes that they aye hae their buttons on
caurey-handed. It jist lets ye see their contrariness.”
“Oh! it’s a peety ye mairried me,” said Jinnet; “a contrairy wife must
be an awfu’ handfu’.”
“Weel, so ye are contrairy,” said Erchie firmly.
“It tak’s twa to be contrairy, jist the same wye as it tak’s twa to mak’
a quarrel,” said Jinnet, picking some fluff off his sleeve. “Whit wye am
I contrairy I would like to ken?”
“If ye werena contrairy, ye would be thinkin’ o’ buyin’ something for
yersel’ instead o’ a topcoat for me, and ye’re far mair needn’t,” said
Erchie, and with that a knock came to the door.
“There’s somebody,” said Jinnet hastily, “put on the kettle.”
“Come awa’ in, Mr Duffy, and you, Mrs Duffy,” said Jinnet; “we’re rale
gled to see ye, Erchie and me. I was jist puttin’ on the kettle to mak’
a drap tea.”
Duffy and his wife came into the cosy light and warmth of the kitchen,
and sat down. There was an elation in the coalman’s eye that could not
be concealed.
“My jove! I’ve news for ye the nicht,” said he, taking out his pipe and
lighting it.
“If it’s that the bag o’ coals is up anither bawbee,” said Erchie,
“there’s nae hurry for’t. It’s no’ awfu’ new news that onywye.”
“Ye needna be aye castin’ up my tred to me,” protested Duffy. “Whaur
would ye be wantin’ coals?”
“Mr MacPherson’s quite richt,” said Mrs Duffy; “everybody kens it’s no’
an awfu’ genteel thing sellin’ coals, they’re that--that black. I’m aye
at him, Mrs MacPherson, to gie up the ree and the lorries and start a
eatin’-house. I could bake and cook for’t fine. Noo that this money’s
com’ in’ to us, we could dae’t quite easy. Look at the profit’ aff mulk
itsel’!”
“Dear me! hae ye come into a fortune?” cried Jinnet eagerly. “Isn’t that
droll? I was jist sayin’ to Erchie that I, wisht somebody would leave
me something and I would buy him a new topcoat.”
“That’ll be a’ richt,” said Duffy. “If he’ll gie me a haund wi’ this
thing I called aboot the nicht, I’ll stand him the finest topcoat in
Gleska, if it costs a pound.”
“If it’s ca’in on lawyers and the like o’ that ye want me to dae,” said
Erchie, “I’m nae use to ye. I’ve a fine wye wi’ me for ministers and
the like o’ that, that’s no’ aye wantin’ to get the better o’ ye, but
lawyers is different. I yince went to a lawyer that was a member in
oor kirk to ask him if he didna think it was time for him to pay his
sate-rents. He said he would think it ower, and a week efter that he
sent me an account for six- and-eightpence for consultation. But
I’m prood to hear ye’ve come in for something, Duffy, whether I get a
topcoat or no’. I never kent ye had ony rich freen’s at a’. Faith, ye’re
weel aff; look at me, I havena a rich freen’ in the warld except--except
Jinnet.”
“Oh, I never kent she was that weel aff,” cried Mrs Duffy.
“Is it her!” said Erchie. “She has that much money in the bank that
the bank clerks touch their hats to her in the street if she has on her
Sunday claes. But that wasna whit I was thinkin’ o’; there’s ither kinds
o’ riches besides the sort they keep in banks.”
“Never mind him, he’s an auld fuiter,” said Jinnet, spreading a
tablecloth on the table and preparing for the tea. “I’m shair I’m gled
to hear o’ your good luck. It doesna dae to build oorsel’s up on money,
for money’s no everything, as the pickpocket said when he took the watch
as weel; but we’re a’ quite ready to thole’t. Ye’ll be plannin’ whit
ye’ll dae wi’t, Mrs Duffy?”
“First and foremost we’re gaun to get rid o’ the ree, at onyrate,” said
Mrs Duffy emphatically. “Then we’re gaun to get a piano.”
“Can ye play?” asked Erchie.
“No,” admitted Mrs Duffy, “but there’s nae need tae play sae lang’s ye
can get a vinolia to play for ye. I think we’ll flit at the term to yin
o’ yon hooses roond the corner, wi’ the tiled closes, and maybe keep a
wee servant lassie. I’m that nervous at havin’ to rise for the mulk
in the mornin’. No’ an awfu’ big servant wi’ keps and aiprons, ye
understaund, but yin I could train into the thing. I’m no’ for nane
o’ your late dinners, I jist like to tak’ something in my hand for my
supper.”
“Och ay, ye’ll can easy get a wee no’ awfu’ strong yin frae the country,
chape,” said Erchie.
“Ye must tak’ care o’ yer ain health, Mrs Duffy, and if ye’re nervous,
risin’ in the mornin’ to tak’ in the mulk’s no’ for ye. But my! ye’ll
no’ be for speakin’ to the like o’ us when ye come into your fortune.”
“It’s no’ exactly whit ye wad ca’ a fortune,” Duffy explained, as they
drew in their chairs to the table. “But it’s a heap o’ money to get a’
at yince withoot daein’ onything for’t.”
“Will ye hae to gang into mournin’s for the body that left it?” Jinnet
asked Mrs Duffy. “I ken a puir weedow wumman that would come to the
hoose to sew for ye.”
“Ye’re aff it a’thegither,” said Duffy. “It’s naebody that left it to
us--it’s a medallion. Whit I wanted to ask ye, Erchie, is this--whit’s a
medallion?”
“Jist a kind o’ a medal,” said Erchie.
“My jove!” said Duffy, “the wife was richt efter a’. I thocht it was
something for playin’ on, like a melodian. Weel, it doesna maitter,
ye’ve heard o’ the hidden treasure the newspapers’s puttin’ here and
there roond the country? I ken where yin o’ them’s hidden. At least I
ken where there’s a medallion.”
“Oh, hoo nice!” said Jinnet. “It’s awfu’ smert o’ ye, Mr Duffy. I was
just readin’ aboot them, and was jist hopin’ some puir body wad get
them.”
“No’ that poor naither!” said Mrs Duffy, with a little warmth.
“Na, na, I wasna sayin’----I didna mean ony hairm,” said poor Jinnet.
“Streetch yer hand, and tak’ a bit cake. That’s a rale nice brooch ye
hae gotten.”
Erchie looked at Duffy dubiously. For a moment he feared the coalman
might be trying on some elaborate new kind of joke, but the complacency
of his face put it out of the question.
“Then my advice to you, Duffy, if ye ken where the medallion is,” said
Erchie, “is to gang and howk it up at yince, or somebody’ll be there
afore ye. I warrant it’ll no’ get time to tak’ root if it’s within a
penny ride on the Gleska skoosh cars. There’s thoosands o’ people oot
wi’ lanterns at this very meenute scrapin’ dirt in the hunt for that
medallion. Hoo do ye ken whaur it is if ye havena seen it?”
“It’s there richt enough,” said Mrs Duffy; “it’s in the paper, and we’re
gaun to gie up the ree; my mind’s made up on that. I hope ye’ll come and
see us sometime in our new hoose--house.”
“It says in the paper,” said Duffy, “that the medallion’s up a street
that has a public-hoose at each end o’t, and a wee pawn in the middle,
roond the corner o’ anither street, where ye can see twa laundries at
yince, and a sign ower yin o’ them that puts ye in mind o’ the battle
o’ Waterloo, then in a parteecular place twenty yairds to the richt o’ a
pend-close wi’ a barrow in’t.”
Erchie laughed. “Wi’ a barrow in’t?” said he. “They micht as weel hae
said wi’ a polisman in’t; barrows is like bobbies--if ye think ye’ll
get them where ye want them ye’re up a close yersel’. And whit’s the
parteecular place, Duffy?”
Duffy leaned forward and whispered mysteriously, “My coal-ree.”
“But we’re gaun to gie’t up,” explained his wife. “Oh, ay, we’re gaun
to give the ree up. Ye hae no idea whaur--where--I could get a smert wee
lassie that would not eat awfu’ much, Mrs MacPherson?”
“I measured it a’ aff,” Duffy went on. “It’s oor street richt enough;
the pubs is there----”
“-----I could bate ye they are,” said Erchie.
“If they werena there it wad be a miracle.”
“-----and the laundries is there. ‘Colin Campbell’ over yin o’ them,
him that bate Bonypart, ye ken, and twenty yairds frae the pend-close is
richt under twenty ton o’ coal I put in last week. It’s no’ M’Callum’s
wid-yaird; it’s my ree.”
“My papa was the sole proprietor of a large wid-yaird,” irrelevantly
remarked Mrs Duffy; who was getting more and more Englified as the
details of the prospective fortune came put.
“Was he, indeed,” said Jinnet. “That was nice!”
“Noo, whit I wanted you to dae for me,” Duffy went on, “was to come awa’
doon wi’ me the nicht and gie’s a hand to shift thae coals. I daurna ask
ony o’ my men to come, for they wad claim halfers.”
Erchie toyed with a teaspoon and looked at the coalman, half in pity,
half with amusement.
“Man, ye’re a rale divert,” said he at last. “Do ye think the newspapers
would be at the bother o’ puttin’ their medallion under twenty ton o’
coal in your coal-ree, or ony body else’s? Na, na, they can mak’ their
money easier nor that. If ye tak’, my advice, ye’ll put a penny on the
bag o’ coal and gie short wecht, and ye’ll mak’ your fortune far shairer
than lookin’ under’t for medallions.”’
“Then ye’re no’ game to gie’s a hand?” said Duffy, starting another
cookie. “See’s the sugar.”
“Not me!” said Erchie promptly. “I’ve a flet fit and a warm hert, but
I’m no’ a’thegither a born idiot to howk coal for medallions that’s no’
there.”
Next day Duffy came up with two bags of coals which Jinnet had ordered.
“Did ye find the medallion?” she asked him.
“I didna need to look for’t,” he replied. “I heard efter I left here
last nicht that a man found it in a back-coort in the Garscube Road.
Them sort of dydoes should be put doon by the polis.”
“Oh, whit a peety!” said Jinnet. “And hoo’s the mistress the day?”
“She’s fine,” said Duffy. “She’s ca’in’ me Jimmy again; it was naething
but Mr Duffy wi’ her as lang’s she thocht we were to get rid o’ the
ree.”