diately suspects that you are trying to cheat him, and will frequently flatly refuse. You must on these occasions conform to a certain etiquette. First, sit down by the side of the vendor, drink tea with him, enquire after the health of his cattle, and listen to some long-winded story about the dearness of things in general and sheep in particular. The next stage in the proceedings is the inspection, or, literally, the feeling of the animal to be sold, which commands a higher value, according to Mongol ideas, in proportion to its fat. Act 3: buyer and seller return to the yurta, sit down again, drink tea, and begin negotiating about the price. Of course, your offer must be much less than he asks; in the meanwhile expressions of mutual regard and friendship are freely interchanged; the owner extols the good qualities of his animal, which the buyer naturally depreciates.
Finally, the price is never fixed by word of mouth but by a pressure of the fingers, — one of the parties allowing the sleeve of his coat to hang down, whereupon the other thrusts his hand into it, so that the whole transaction is secret. This mode of concluding a bargain is also common in certain parts of China in ordinary commercial transactions. At length, after endless hand-shaking and interchange of compliments, the sheep is bought. The silver and the scales must then be scrutinised; the vendor usually finding fault with the latter, and offering the use of his own, which are anything but irreproachable. A discussion ensues, which is settled somehow
