Neil Munro - Erchie, My Droll Friend

“And then the wee lassie says she canna tak’ her parridge.

“‘Whit for no’?’ he asks her, anxious-like. ‘Are they no guid?’

“‘Oh, they’re maybe guid enough,’ she says, ‘but I wad raither hae toffie.’

“‘Toffie. Right!’ says her paw, and orders up the chef to mak’ toffie in a hurry.

“‘Whit’s he gaun to mak’ it wi’?’ asks the wee yin.

“‘Oh, jist in the ordinar’ wye – wi’ butter and sugar,’ says her paw.

“‘That’s jist common toffie,’ says the wee lassie; ‘I want some ither kind.’

“‘As shair’s death, Maggie,’ he says, ‘there’s only the ae wye o’ makin’ toffie.’

“‘Then whit’s the use o’ haein’ a millionaire for a paw?’ she asks.

“‘True for you,’ he says, and thinks hard. ‘I could mak’ the chef put in champed rubies or a di’mond or twa grated doon.’

“‘Wad it mak’ the toffie taste ony better?’ asks the wee cratur’.

“‘No’ a bit better,’ he says. ‘It wadna taste sae guid as the ordinary toffie, but it wad be nice and dear.’

“‘Then I’ll jist hae to hae the plain, chape toffie,’ says wee Maggie.

“‘That’s jist whit I hae to hae mysel’ wi’ a great mony things,’ says her paw. ‘Being a millionaire’s nice enough some wyes, but there’s a wheen things money canna buy, and paupers wi’ three or four thoosand paltry, pounds a-year is able to get jist as guid toffie and ither things as I can. I canna even dress mysel’ different frae ither folks, for it wad look rideeculous to see me gaun aboot wi’ gold cloth waistcoats and a hat wi’ strings o’ pearls on it, so a’ I can dae is to get my nickerbocker suits made wi’ an extra big check. I hae the pattern that big noo there’s only a check-and-a-half to the suit; but if it wasna for the honour o’t I wad just as soon be wearin’ Harris tweed.’”

“Upon my word, Erchie,” I said, “you make me sorry for our philanthropic friend, and particularly for his little girl.”

“Oh, there’s no occasion!” protested Erchie. “There’s no condeetion in life that hasna its compensations, and even Mr Carnegie’s wee lassie has them. I hae nae doot the best fun her and her paw gets is when they’re playin’ at bein’ puir. The auld man’ll nae doot whiles hide his pocket-money in the press, and sit doon readin’ his newspaper, wi’ his feet on the chimneypiece, and she’ll come in and ask for a bawbee.

“‘I declare to ye I havena a farden, Maggie,’ he’ll say; ‘but I’ll gie ye a penny on Setturday when I get my pay.’

“‘I dinna believe ye,’ she’ll say.

“‘Then ye can ripe me,’ says her paw, and the wee tot’ll feel in a’ his pooches, and find half a sovereign in his waistcoat. They’ll let on it’s jist a bawbee (the wee thing never saw a rale bawbee in her life, I’ll warrant), and he’ll wonner whit wye he forgot aboot it, and tell her to keep it and buy jujubes wi’t, and she’ll be awa’ like a whitteruck and come back in a while wi’ her face a’ sticky for a kiss, jist like rale.

“Fine I ken the wee smouts; it was that wye wi’ oor ain Teenie.

“Other whiles she’ll hae a wee tin bank wi’ a bee-skep on’t, and she’ll hae’t fu’ o’ sovereigns her faither’s veesitors slip’t in her haund when they were gaun awa’, and she’ll put it on the mantelpiece and gang out. Then her paw’ll get up lauchin’ like onything to himsel’, and tak’ doon the wee bank and rattle awa’ at it, lettin’ on he’s robbin’t for a schooner o’ beer, and at that she’ll come rinnin’ in and catch him at it, and they’ll hae great fun wi’ that game. I have nae doot her faither and mither get mony a laugh at her playin’ at wee washin’s, too, and lettin’ on she’s fair trauchled aff the face o’ the earth wi’ a family o’ nine dolls, an’ three o’ them doon wi’ the hoopin’-cough. Oh! they’re no’ that bad aff for fine fun even in Skibo Castle.”

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