Hoo dinna ye gang up the stair
to Mr Cupples, and hae a lauch wi' him?"
"I didna ken ye had onybody up the stair. Wha's Mr Cupples?"
"Weel, he kens that best himsel! But he's a gey queer ane. He's a
terrible scholar though, fowk says--gran' at the Greek, and rael bonny
on the mathewmawtics. Only ye maunna be fleyt (frightened) at him."
"I'm easy fleyt," said Alec, with a laugh. "But I wad like to see him."
"Gang up, than, and chap at the garret door upo' yer left han'."
"But what reason am I to gie him for disturbin' him?" asked Alec.
"Ow nane ava. Jist tak' a moufu' o' Greek wi' ye to speir the richt
meanin' o', gin ye maun hae a rizzon."
"That will do just first-rate," said Alec; "for here I have been
puzzling over a sentence for the last half hour with nobody but this
dim-sighted ghost of a Schrevelius to help me out with it. I'll go
directly. But I look such a blackguard with this game eye!"
The landlady laughed.
"You'll sune forget that whan ye see Mr Cupples."
To the dismay of his nurse, Alec pulled the bandage off his eye, and
amidst her expostulations caught up his book, and rushing away, bounded
up the garret stairs, which ascended outside the door of the _flat_.
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