# Martha Spreull/The Unclaimed Fiddle-case

CHAPTER VIII.
THE UNCLAIMED FIDDLE-CASE
FTER a' is said and dune, it appears to me this worl' is no sae big as it seems. There's a story telt in a southern county aboot a gangrel creatur' wha marched aff at midnicht wi' a blanket that had been lent him by a hospitable farmer, in whose barn he had gotten a night's lodgin', but a mist cam' on, and the body, wi' his blanket aboot him, fand himself at nicht, efter a lang day's march, in the same farm-yard, face to face wi' the man whose kindness he had requited sae ill. I dinna ken whether the reflection is original or no', hooever, it seems to me that the ill-daer generally gangs roon in a circle, like the man i' the mist, without ettlin' it, until he fa's intil the very teeth o' the ill he has dune; and I wudna say but some notion o' this kin' may have been at the bottom o' the auld custom o' settlin' accounts wi' criminals on the same spot where their crimes were committed.
settlement o’ his bill. The fiddle-case wis a thing I hadna muckle use for mysel’—no havin’ a musical ear; though efter Willie Warstle, my bursar laddie, cam’ hame, I found it unco handy for keepin’ his white shirts and collars in. Weel, what do you think, ae day as I wis traikin’ through the shops in Sauchiehall Street, wi’ the leg o’ a sock that needit fittin in my bag, in search o’ yairn to match, wha should I meet hut the owner o’ this same fiddle-case wi’ a guid sonsy, red-faced leddy on his airm. I wis perfect dumfoonert wi’ surprise, for I never thocht to see him again on this side o’ time. He had on a guid black coat, besides a white neckcloth, and lookit sae sedate that you wud have thocht butter wudna melt in his mooth, as the sayin’ is. Weel, as he cracket quite sober and solemn-like, I fand oot that he wis minister o’ the Parish o Drumsynie, and that his wife wis the dochter o’ a rich cattle-drover i’ the toon o’ the same name, whose family wis weel kent by my faither. She wis gey rouch and out-spoken for a minister’s wife, and interfered wi’ the crack in a wye that I thocht wis mair maisterfu’ than modest. In truth, I didna like the wumman ; but that is neither here nor there.
Efter a wee I turned on my heel wi’ them, and we gaed west thegither. Weel, the talk proceeded on, but there wisna a word aboot the bill. Thinks I, “My gentleman, I’ve gien ye a guid chance to speak first; ” but kennin’ hoo treacherous the memory is aboot money obligations, I broke the ice, and speered when he wis gaun to send for the fiddle-case.
Wi’ that he gaed me a nudge on the side wi’ his elbow, and a look as much as to say “ Dinna name the thing before her!’
“Ah,” says he, unco sanctimonious like, “Mistress Spreull, college life is a light-hearted time—a time of queer antics and thoughtless extravagance.”
“ Nae doot,” auoth I, “ nae doot”—for I had min’ o’ the nicht ​I gaed ben and threatened to send for the pollis. They were actin’ a nigger extraveganzy wi’ their faces blackened. A.ne played the fiddle, anither the concerteeny, while the lads wi’ the clappers and the tamboreen faced up to ane anither and made sic a racket on the flair-head wi’ their heavy feet, that I thocht they wud bring doon the hoose.
“ Ah, yes," he gaed on, “ but the responsibilities of a parish soon make us lay aside and forget the follies of our youth.” “Very guid,” thinks I, “very guid, still they maunna let ye forget your lawfu’ debts.” Hooever, I saw it wudna dae to push him ower sair before his wife. So, as they were near my ain door, I inveeted them in to have some refreshment. It wis sometime before we could get a word by oorsels—but we took the first chance.
“ Mistress Spreull,” quoth he in a frichtet, hurriet kind o voice, “ for God’s-sake don’t say a word about my indebtedness to you before my wife.”
“Weel,” says I, “ye’ve been lang o’ mintin’ the maitter yersel’.”
“ True,” quoth he, “ but since getting settled I haven’t had much among my hands. My wife’s money is at her own disposal, and I cannot finger a penny without her knowledge. She’s of a jealous turn, and to ask her for such a sum as I owe you would rouse suspicion; in fact it would ruin me.”
The man wis sair puttin’ aboot; but he said if I wud help her wi’ her shopping—for she wis a stranger to the city—and relieve him, he wad call on some friends and see what could be dune. Th ere wis naething unreasonable in that; so when the mistress cam’ ben, it was sune arranged, an’ she an’ I got on oor things an’ set aff to the toon.
I took her to see twa’r three respectable shops where I wis weel kent mysel’, and I wis black affronted at the wye she ​ gaed on. Wab efter wab o’ flannel, wincey, and silk were turned ower on the coonter, but she had aye some faut to find. It wisna guid enough, or it wis ower dear—then, efter she had gi’en trouble enough to break ony ordinar’ shopman’s temper— no; she wudna mind wi’ onything the day.
“ Mrs. Drummond,” says I, efter we had got ootside the third shop, “ What div ye want ? ”
“ Want ? ” quoth she. “ I want bargains. I could buy thae things cheaper and better in oor ain store.”
“ O,” says I, “ these are a’ respectable shops, an’ what ye get in them can be depended on, but they’re no’ used to priggin’. Hooever, ye sometimes get bargains i’ the Polytechnick—maybe ye’ll step along there.”
“O,” says she, “ that is a place I wud like fine to see, for I hae read aboot it i’ the newspapers.”
So we gaed along to the Polytechnick; na, but she wis uncommon pleased wi’ the show, especially wi’ the Magic Cave, which, in truth, wis a great sight to see. Weel, as she gaed frae gallery to gallery, an’ frae coonter to coonter, speerin’ the yaird o’ this, an’ the price o’ that, I wis nearly trailed aff my feet. At lang an’ length she got her e’e on the end o’ a wab o’ navy-blue silk, an’ I wis thankfu’ to get sittin’ doon on a seat while she bargained for’t.
It wis clearly a thing she had a weakness for, but when she had gotten it at her ain price I had the best laugh at her expense I’ve had for mony a day, though I wis real thankfu’ the incident hadna happened in ony shop whaur I wis kent. The wumman had put doon a five-pound note on the coonter while the shopman wis makin’ up the parcel, an’, just as we were sittin’ crackin’, a cash laddie cam’ by an’ snappit up the siller, an’ bein’ licht on his fit, he wis makin’ aff gey brisk wi t to the cash-desk, when she lap to her feet, an’ knockin’ ower ​ the chair, an’ hauf-a-dizzen wabs o’ salvage flannel that were stooket on the flair behind her, she gripped the wee callant by the cuff o’ the neck, an’ nearly shaket him oot o’ his bit jacket. “ What’s wrang wi’ ye, mistress ? ” qioth the laddie, looking up in the wumman’s face, unco terrified-like.
“Wrang!” she cried, lood enough to draw a crood aboot her. “Wrang! ye young keelie; I have often heard o’the like o’ ye in this sinfu’ ceety, but my certie I’ll mak’ ye suffer for’t. Gie me that five-pound note this meenit, or I ’ll cuff yer ears to ye.”
I needna say hoo the thing wis explained, but as ye may weel believe, I got her oot as sune as I could, and lost nae time in gettin’ her up to the College Station, where, according to appointment, her husband wis waiting for her.
I can tell ye I wis gled to get the wumman aff my hauns. She wis in an unco fluster, an’ I couldna get a word wi’ the minister by himsel’, for she keepit her e’e weel on him. But as we gaed up the platform, he slipped an envelope into my haun.
When I got hame I found, to my surprise, it contained a cheque in payment o’ my accoont. There wis also a letter, written in pencil, saying he had borrowed this sum frae an auld college frien’ wha had settled in guid practice as a doctor. Nae doot it wis robbin’ Peter to pay Paul. But, thinks I, that’s nae business o’ Paul’s.
“Ye can keep the fiddle-case,” says he in a postscript, “for both my wife and my session are opposed to instrumental music.”
“ Weel,” thinks I, “ Noo that justice has been appeased, it’s no’ worth my while to fa’ oot wi’ the man aboot the custody o’ a fiddle-case.”