The fowk i' the back streets
canna bide that. An' I winna alloo 't i' my hoose. Jist luik at puir Mr
Cupples here."
Mr Cupples lay on the bed, with his head bound in a bloody bandage. He
had fallen upon the fender, and a bad cut had been the consequence. He
held out his hand to Alec, and said feebly,
"Bantam, I thocht ye had yer neck thrawn or this time. Hoo, the muckle
deil! did ye win oot o' their grips?"
"By playin' the cat a wee," answered Alec.
"It's the first time," remarked Mr Cupples, "I ever kent I had a door
to the lift (sky). But faith! the sowl o' me was nearhan' gaein' out at
this new ane i' my ain riggin. Gin it hadna been for the guidwife here,
'at cam' up, efter the clanjamfrie had taen themsel's aff, an' fand me
lying upo' the hearthstane, I wad hae been deid or noo. Was my heid
aneath the grate, guidwife?"
"Na, nae freely that, Mr Cupples; but the blude o' 't was. And ye maun
jist haud yer tongue, and lie still. Mr Forbes, ye maun jist come doon
wi' me; for he winna haud's tongue's lang's ye're there. I'll jist mak'
a cup o' tay till him."
"Tay, guidwife! Deil slocken himsel' wi yer tay! Gie me a sook o' the
tappit hen."
"'Deed, Mr Cupples, ye s' hae neither sook nor sipple o' that spring.
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