"What is that to you, a fellow who has been
years abroad?"
"I can't help it," said Severne, apologetically. "I am
superstitious--don't like to do business on a Sunday. I would not even
shunt at the tables on a Sunday--I don't think."
"Ah, you are not quite sure of that. There _is_ a limit to your
superstition! Well, will you listen to a story on a Sunday?"
"Rather!"
"Then, once on a time there was a Scotch farmer who had a bonny cow; and
another farmer coveted her honestly. One Sunday they went home together
from kirk and there was the cow grazing. Farmer Two stopped, eyed her,
and said to Farmer One, 'Gien it were Monday, as it is the Sabba' day,
what would ye tak' for your coow?' The other said the price would be nine
pounds, _if it were Monday._ And so they kept the Sabbath; and the cow
changed hands, though, to the naked eye, she grazed on _in situ._ Our
negotiation is just as complete. So what does it matter whether the
actual exchange of bills and cash takes place to-day or to-morrow?"
"Do you really mean to say it does not matter to you?" asked Severne.
"Not one straw."
"Then, as it does not matter to you, and does to me, give me my foolish
way, like a dear good fellow.
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