Mr Cupples had
shouted into his empty tumbler while just going to swallow the last few
drops without the usual intervention of the wine-glass. Alec hesitated,
but the voice came again with its usual ring, tinged with irritation,
and he entered.
"Hillo, bantam!" exclaimed Mr Cupples, holding out a grimy hand, that
many a lady might have been pleased to possess and keep clean and
white: "Hoo's the soo? And hoo's a' the cocks and hens?"
"Brawly," returned Alec. "Hoo's the _tappit hen_?"--a large bottle,
holding six quarts, in which Mr Cupples kept his whisky.
Mr Cupples opened his eyes wide, and stared at Alec, who saw that he
had made a blunder.
"I'll hae nae jaw frae you, younker," said he slowly. "Gin ye be sae
ill at ease 'at ye maun tak' leeberties for the sake o' bein'
facetious, ye can jist gang doon the stair wi' a quaiet sough."
"I beg your pardon, Mr Cupples," said Alec earnestly, for he was vexed
with himself. "But ye're quite richt; I am some ill at ease."
"I thocht as muckle. Is the rainbow beginnin' to cast (fade) a wee? Has
the fit o' Iris ca'd a hole i' the airch o' 't? Eh, man! man! Tak' to
the mathemawtics and the anawtomy, and fling the conic sections an' the
banes i' the face o' the bonny jaud--Iris, I mean, man, no ither, lass
or leddy.
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