The Government and the
weather recede; cheese emerges triumphant. Tarpaulins are stripped off;
a new expression settles upon the features both of buyers and sellers;
the dealers begin to move swiftly from one heap to another. They feel
the cheeses, pat them, listen to them, plunge in their scoops and
remove a long pink stick which they roll in their fingers, smell or
taste and then neatly replace. Meanwhile, the seller stands by with an
air part self-satisfaction, part contempt, part pity, part detachment,
as who should say "It matters nothing to me whether this fussy fellow
thinks the cheese good or not, buys it or not; but whether he thinks
it good or bad, or whether he buys, or leaves it, it is still the
best cheese in Alkmaar market, and some one will give me my price".
The seller gnaws his cigar, the buyer asks him what he asks. The buyer
makes an offer. The seller refuses. The buyer increases it. The seller
either refuses or accepts. In accepting, or drawing near acceptance,
he extends his hand, which the buyer strikes once, and then pausing,
strikes again. Apparently two such movements clench the bargain;
but I must confess to being a bad guide here, for I could find no
absolute rule to follow. The whole process of Alkmaar chaffering
is exceedingly perplexing and elusive.
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