Brother can you spare a dime?  Harry, what's a mild cigar?  Harry worked in the Scotmid Co-op in Toll Cross, Edinburgh.  He was a modest Scot in his white butcher's coat, and he was always willing to oblige with an answer to the sort of colonial from Morningside--escapees from the Raj--or Canada who had to be told what the little liverwurst sleeve of dough in a packet of minced beef was for.  "A-em, just a dumpling, I think." Things were no less tricky at the cash, where Harry was often called in for his opinion on wines and spirits--never beer, mind--and tobacco.  Was a panatella a mild cigar?  How much do you cut off the end of a stogie, and what do you expect on the first puff? Ever informative on the magic of a box of caustic soda crystals to clear a blocked drain--or baking soda and vinegar in a pinch. Less helpful was Harry--so he was--with matters of mice--"A-em, you'll have to call paest control for that."  So I did.