Ginger and Pickles, by Beatrix Potter
Feb. 20th, 2011 01:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amand_rOnce upon a time there was a village shop. The name over the window was "Ginger and Pickles."
It was a little small shop just the right size for dolls—Lucinda and Jane Doll-cook always bought their groceries at Ginger and Pickles
The counter inside was convenient height for rabbits. Ginger and Pickles sold red spotty pocket-handkerchiefs at a penny three farthings.
They also sold sugar, and snuff and galoshes.
In fact, although it was such a small shop it sold nearly everything—except a few things that you want in a hurry—like bootlaces, hair-pins and mutton chops.
Ginger and Pickles were the people who kept the shop. Ginger was a yellow tom-cat, and Pickles was a terrier.
The rabbits were always a little bit afraid of Pickles.
The shop was also patronized by mice—only the mice were rather afraid of Ginger.
Ginger usually requested Pickles to serve them, because he said it made his mouth water.
"I cannot bear," said he, "to see them going out the door carrying their little parcels."
"I have the same feeling about rats," replied Pickles, "but it would never do to eat our own customers; they would leave us and go to Tabitha Twichit's."
"On the contrary, they would go nowhere," replied Ginger gloomily.
(Tabitha Twitchit kept the only other shop in the village. She did not give credit.)
Ginger and Pickles gave unlimited credit.
Now the meaning of "credit" is this—when a customer buys a bar of soap, instead of the customer pulling out a purse and paying for it—she says that she will pay another time.
And Pickles makes a low bow and says, "With pleasure, madam," and it is written down in a book.
The customers come again and again, and buy quantities, in spite of being afraid of Ginger and Pickles.
But there is no money in what is called the "till."
The customers came in crowds every day and bought quantities, especially the toffee customers. But there was always no money; they never paid for as much as a pennyworth of peppermints.
But the sales were enormous, ten times as large as Tabitha Twitchit's.
As there was always no money, Ginger and Pickles were obliged to eat their own goods.
Pickles ate biscuits and Ginger ate dried haddock.
They ate them by candlelight after the shop was closed.
When it came to Jan. 1st there was still no money, and Pickles was unable to buy a dog license.
"It is very unpleasant, I am afraid of the police," said Pickles.
"It is your own fault for being a terrier; I do not require a license, and neither does Kep, the Collie dog."
"It is very uncomfortable, I am afraid I shall be summoned. I have tried in vain to get a license upon credit at the Post Office;" said Pickles. "The place is full of policemen. I met one as I was coming home."
"Let us send in the bill again to Samuel Whiskers, Ginger, he owes 22/9 for bacon."
"I do not believe that he intends to pay at all, " replied Ginger.
"And I feel sure the Anna Maria pockets things—Where are all the cream crackers?"
"You have eaten them yourself," replied Ginger.
Ginger and Pickles retired into the back parlour.
They did accounts. They added up sums and sums, and sums.
"Samuel Whiskers has run up a bill as long as his tail; he has had an ounce and three-quarters of snuff since October."
"What is seven pounds of butter at 1/3, and a stick of sealing wax and four matches?"
"Send in all the bills again to everybody 'with comp,'" replied Ginger.
After a time they heard a noise in the shop, as if something had been pushed in at the door. They came out of the back parlour. There was an envelope lying on the counter, and a policeman writing in a note-book!
Pickles nearly had a fit, he barked and he barked and he made little rushes.
"Bite him, Pickles! bite him!" spluttered Ginger behind a sugar-barrel, "he's only a German doll!"
The policeman went on writing in his note-book; twice he put his pencil in his mouth, and once he dipped it in the treacle.
Pickles barked until he was hoarse. But still the policeman took no notice. He had bead eyes, and his helmet was sewed on with stitches.
At length on his last little rush—Pickles found that the shop was empty. The policeman had disappeared.
But the envelope remained.
"Do you think he has gone to fetch a real live policeman? I am afraid it is a summons," said Pickles.
"No," replied Ginger, who had opened the envelope, "it is the rates and taxes, £3 19 11 ¾."
"This is the last straw," said Pickles, "let us close the shop."
They put up the shutters, and left. But they have not removed from the neighbourhood. In fact some people wish they had gone further.
Ginger is living in a warren. I do not know what occupation he pursues; he looks stout and comfortable.
Pickles is at present a gamekeeper.
The closing of the shop caused great inconvenience. Tabitha Twitchit immediately raised the price of everything a half-penny; and she continued to refuse to give credit.
Of course there are other tradesmen's carts—the butcher, the fishman and Timothy Baker.
But a person cannot live on "seed wigs" and sponge-cake and butterbuns—not even when the sponge-cake is as good as Timothy's!
After a time Mr. John Dormouse and his daughter began to sell peppermints and candles. But they did not keep "self-fitting sixes"; and it takes five mice to carry one seven inch candle.
Besides—the candles which they sell behave very strangely in warm weather.
And Miss Dormouse refuse to take back the ends when they were brought back to her with complaints.
And when Mr. John dormouse was complained to, he stayed in bed, and would say nothing but "very snug;" which is not the way to carry on a retail business.
So everybody was pleased when Sally Henny Penny sent out a printed poster to say that she was going to re-open the shop—"Henny's Opening Sale! Grand co-operative Jumble! Penny's penny prices! Come buy, come try, come buy!"
The poster really was most 'ticing.
There was a rush upon the opening day. The shop was crammed with customers, and there were crowds of mice upon the biscuit canisters.
Sally Henny Penny gets rather flustered when she tries to count out change, and she insists on being paid cash; but she is quite harmless.
And she had laid in a remarkable assortment of bargains.
There is something to please everybody.
THE END.
Beatrix Potter: Insane? Prophetic? What the fuck?
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Date: 2011-02-20 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-20 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-20 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 06:19 am (UTC)You should scan the entire book and post it for us so we can see the pictures! :-)
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Date: 2011-02-21 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-21 04:52 pm (UTC)THE ODD ADORABLENESS AND CLEAR BRITISH SETTING HAVE WON, OK?
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Date: 2011-02-22 12:19 pm (UTC)I'll put the weirdness on the account of my bad understanding of the language. I'm not sure I want to know how/why/WTF the author wrote that
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Date: 2011-02-22 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-22 05:47 pm (UTC)It reminds me of a children book I got for free for my school library, I read it before as I usually do, and I was totally appealled: it's the story of two twins, a boy and a girl, quite young... the girl can't laugh and the boy can't cry, or the reverse, anyway... one day, their parents die. They are left to the dubious care of an awfully evil aunt, they run away, have a whole lot of misadventures, and actually end up "cured": the one who can't cry manage to cry and the one who couldn't laugh managed to laugh.
And then... nah, I can hardly tell it, is seems SO downright evil to write such a thing, but there it goes: the parents come back! They were not dead, they just wanted the twins to be in such a situation that they would overcome their 'illness'!
I mean, SURE, go traumatize your kids and make them believe their parents are dead, mistreat them, they should be better after that!
I just can't imagine how this story got published! I know what my friend would suggest for an explanation but it's a bit vulgar and I don't think the expression exists in English. oh well nevermind (SWEARING ALERT, HIDE THE KIDS):
"how many kilometers of cocks did this guy blow to get his book published???"
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Date: 2011-02-22 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-22 05:56 pm (UTC)