_The Cobbler's Wager._
One fine summer's day a strong, active young man was sauntering along
the Exeter road, with apparently no immediate object in view but to
pass away the time, for he certainly seemed in no hurry to reach the
place of his destination--if, indeed, such a thing was in his thoughts,
as it undoubtedly should have been, for he was carrying home a pair of
shoes he had taken the greater part of the week to mend.
You will guess by this that he was a cobbler by trade, and from the way
he was going on we may, perhaps, form an idea how it is that cobblers
are proverbially so little to be depended upon in the performance of a
promise--at least, when that promise refers to their work.
The young man we are talking of was not fond of work, but, being a
merry, jovial fellow, was much liked in the neighbourhood where he
lived, more particularly as he was always ready to give a helping hand
to any one who required the assistance of a strong arm, and never
hesitated to neglect his own business to help others.
Perhaps, too, that sort of occupation was more profitable than mending
boots and shoes, for he always seemed to have money to spare when he
met any companions of his own stamp at the different road-side inns.
He was now coming near to such a house, and was trying to find a good
excuse to turn in--for the landlord, according to his words, was a man
of the right sort--when a butcher, in his cart, carrying a calf he had
just bought, whom he knew well, overtook him.
No excuse was, of course, required now to drop in at Tom Turner's, the
landlord just mentioned, if even he had not been standing at his door,
where, however, he was, ready to welcome them.
The three were soon merry enough over a jug of foaming ale; and the
butcher, in particular, was in high spirits, for he had not only made
a good bargain, but one he prided himself upon. The Landlord said to
him, "I'm sure you've been playing your pranks off on some one, or that
you've overreached some poor wretch in a bargain, makes you in such
high glee this morning."
"Well, I've not done so badly, I think," the Butcher answered, rubbing
his hands. "A little mother's wit in one's head is worth having, and
where's the good if one doesn't use it? You must know I particularly
wanted a calf this morning--indeed, I couldn't do without it, whatever
price I had to give; and as I happened to hear yesterday that old
farmer Hagan had some very fine ones, I went to him. Now I didn't tell
him that I wanted a calf--leave me alone for that--but I said I wanted
some sheep, which I knew he just happened not to have. He told me that
he hadn't any, and, as I expected, then said he had some first-rate
calves which he wished me to see.
"'I am very sorry to hear it, Neighbour,' I said; 'for calves are
falling down to nothing in value since the celebrated Doctor Tweedle
came into these parts. You know that he has declared veal to be the
most unwholesome meat there is, and that eating it is little short of
eating poison; so that no one will touch it. I have two of the most
beautiful calves you ever saw, which I am but too happy to be able to
get rid of at thirty shillings each--just half what I gave for them. A
friend of mine has occasion for three, which he is going to send off to
a distance; so I am glad to be able to do you a good turn, if you are
willing to part with one of yours on the same terms; but it must be a
good 'un.'
"Old Hagan was loath to part with one of his calves at such a price,
but was so frightened by what I had told him, that he let me have the
one that is outside in my cart, saying, 'I know, Neighbour, that you
are not a man likely to be over-reached, and that you would not sell at
such a price if you saw a chance of getting a better one.'
"Now," the Butcher continued, "does either of you think he could make
as good a bargain as that?" And he chuckled, again rubbing his hands,
as they both confessed that they gave in to him.
Shortly after, the cobbler rose to go, saying, as the butcher offered
to give him a lift in his cart, that he was going another way; and
as he went out, he made a sign to the landlord to follow him. When
they were outside together he whispered, "I should like to play our
boasting friend a good trick." "I wish, with all my heart, you could,"
the Landlord answered; "but he is a cunning fellow." "Cunning as he is,
I've a great mind to steal the calf he's so proud of having cheated old
Hagan out of, and then sell it him again, but at double the price," the
Cobbler said. "He's too deep for you," said the Landlord; "you can't do
it." "What will you bet?" the Cobbler asked. "Anything you like!" was
the answer. "Well, then," the Cobbler again said, "let it be a gallon
of your very best ale. Now you go back, and manage--as if without any
particular motive--to tell our friend that you have a calf (that can be
easily done as he is getting into his cart), when you may as well say
that it is just like the one he has. You do this, and leave the rest to
me."
"I hope, with all my heart, that you'll succeed," the Landlord said, as
he went back into the house; and the cobbler hastened along the road
which he knew was the butcher's way. When he had got some distance
from the house, he dropped one of the shoes he was carrying home by the
side of the road, where it would be sure to be seen, and then ran on
some distance further, where he dropped the other shoe, choosing the
spot close by an opening in the hedge by the road-side.
Shortly after, the butcher came the same way, still chuckling over his
morning's bargain, and when he saw the shoe, drew in his horse. He was
about to get out, when he thought better of it, saying, "There's some
of that careless cobbler's work. He evidently has come this way, and
dropped one of the shoes I saw him carrying--but I'm not going to take
the trouble to carry it after him. Let him come back, and that will
teach him not to refuse a civil offer again. If he had but dropped the
pair, I should not mind getting out to pick them up--though certainly
it would not be to give them to him, but to keep them myself."
With these friendly thoughts he drove on, and, before long, saw the
other shoe. "Hallo!" he said; "why, that lazy rascal of a cobbler,
rather than go back when he discovered the loss of the one shoe, has
thrown the other away as useless; but I'll not be such a fool, and
won't begrudge a little trouble for the sake of a good pair of shoes."
So saying, he jumped out of his cart and picked up the shoe, and,
finding it was a good one, ran back for the other, leaving his cart
standing in the road.
No sooner had he turned a corner in the road, than the cobbler jumped
out from behind the hedge where he had hidden himself, and having
lifted the calf out of the cart, took it on his shoulders, and hurried
back with his load, as fast as possible, a short cut to Tom Turner's
house.
Tom received him with an acclamation of joy; and as soon as they had
stowed the calf away in a shed, he produced some of his very best ale,
over which they discussed what was further to be done. The Cobbler
said, "As soon as the butcher finds that his calf has disappeared, and
that there are no signs of it, he will be sure to come back to you,
having heard you had one; but be sure you do not let him have it a
farthing under three pounds, for you know that was the price named by
himself, and that he said he must have one to-day at any price. When
we have had our joke out, we will give him back his money, making him
pay the amount of our wager, and another gallon to boot. But he is a
slippery rogue, so mind you do not part with the calf without receiving
the money down. And now, what will you bet that I do not steal this
very calf again?"
The landlord, enjoying the joke, betted another gallon, and his
companion continued, "To prepare for another sale, tell him, as he is
driving off--tell him you have another calf, the twin brother to this
one, and so like it that no one can tell one from the other."
After all that had been arranged, the cobbler related every
circumstance of the past adventure--not forgetting the butcher's
soliloquy--to Tom's infinite amusement, and added, "Take particular
notice whether he says anything about finding the shoes; for if he
intends to act dishonestly we may alter our determination about
giving him back his money." He had scarcely finished when they saw
the butcher's cart at the door, so he hastened away to his former
hiding-place.
[Illustration: _The Cobbler carrying off the Calf._]
The next moment the butcher was in the house, and he cried out, "Tom!
you must positively let me have that calf of yours, for mine has played
me an infernal trick, and has run off! I saw the brute, and ran after
it. But it doesn't matter, for I know where it is, and can easily catch
it again. But I'm in a hurry, so I thought it better to come back for
yours."
"How did it happen?" Tom asked.
"Why, my horse got a stone in its hoof, and as I had to go a few yards
off to get a dry stick to pick it out with, the brute took advantage of
my being away, jumped out of the cart and got into a field by the side
of the road. When I got back, though I saw it, it had the start of me,
and I was not inclined to run far after it. But, now, I'm in a hurry;
so tell me at once, Tom, what you want for your calf."
Tom answered, "You know that I do not quite believe in veal being
poison, in spite of the great Doctor's opinion; but, to accommodate a
friend, I don't mind parting with it cheap, though I really can't take
less than three pounds."
The butcher, finding that his own words were used against him, made no
difficulty, but, paying the money, carried off the calf, Tom calling
after him that if he lost that he had his twin brother for him. He
congratulated himself, as he drove along, that, though he paid dearly
for the calf, he had, at least, got a good pair of shoes for nothing.
To make up for lost time he put his horse to its best trot, but drew
in suddenly when he got to the spot of his misfortune, for he heard a
sound like the bleating of a calf. He listened for a moment, and then
exclaimed, in glee, "Oh! it's you is it, my runaway? Now, take my word
for it, you shall suffer for this."
He jumped out of the cart and got into the field, but the bleating
seemed to proceed from the next field, and when he got there from
another, till he was led on to a considerable distance from his cart.
The cobbler, who had imitated the bleating of a calf, when he had led
on the butcher till he got confused, hurried back to where the cart
was, and hastily taking out the calf, got safely back with it to Tom
Turner's.
Tom, who had scarcely expected success this time, was fit to split his
sides with laughter, when he heard an account of this last adventure,
and in his turn told what had passed between him and the butcher.
"Why, the rascal!" exclaimed the Cobbler, who was a honest fellow
himself, "so he intends to steal the shoes, for he knows well enough
that they belong to me. We'll give him another chance when he comes
back, for I'll tell him that I lost the shoes; but if then he does not
restore them, why I'll sell them to him for his calf and the money we
get out of him. Don't you think it will serve him right?" The landlord
agreed, that if he persisted in dishonestly keeping the shoes, he would
deserve to pay dearly for them, adding,--
"If we could manage it, it would be well to let him have his calf this
time for nothing." But the Cobbler, who was very indignant at the
fellow's shuffling dishonesty, said, "No, no, he deserves no manner of
consideration, but I hope he won't prove quite as bad as I think him."
The butcher soon returned, and this time told the truth of the manner
in which he had lost the calf; but when the cobbler told him of his
loss he was far from confessing that he had found the shoes, and
that they were then in his cart, hidden under some straw. He was out
of humour at his own losses, and said, rather brutally, "You are so
careless that your loss serves you right. What is your loss to mine?
I have now paid four pounds ten for a calf, and still haven't got one
for my customers. Come, Tom, my good Friend, you must be merciful this
time, and let me have your other calf a little cheaper. If you'll let
me have it for two pounds here's the money, but if not I must go back
to old Hagan's for one."
Whilst this bargain was being concluded the cobbler went out, and
looking in the butcher's cart soon found the shoes, which he took,
replacing the straw as he found it.
Tom accepted the two pounds that were offered him, and the butcher was
this time allowed to get his dearly-bought calf safely home; but I'm
sorry to say the owner of the shoes had to wait another day for them,
as the cobbler spent the remainder of that one with his friend, and
merrily they spent it.