But a headache and a sore conscience
together were enough to upset it. To be out of temper with oneself is
to be out of temper with the universe.
"Did my mother commission you to look after me, Mr Cupples?" he asked,
and could have dashed his head against the wall the next moment. But
the look of pitying and yet deprecating concern in Mr Cupples's face
fixed him so that he could say nothing.
Mr Cupples turned and walked slowly away, with only the words:
"Eh! bantam! bantam! The Lord hae pity upo' ye???-and me too!"
He went out at the door bowed like an old man.
"Preserve's, Mr Cupples! What ails ye?" exclaimed his landlady meeting
him in the passage.
"The whusky's disagreed wi' me," he said. "It's verra ill-faured o' 't.
I'm sure I pay't ilka proper attention."
Then he went down the stairs, murmuring--
"Rainbows! Rainbows! Naething for me but rainbows! God help the
laddie!"
CHAPTER LXXII.
It may appear strange to some of my renders that Alec should fall into
this pit immediately upon the solemn warning of his friend. He had
listened to the story alone; he had never felt the warning: he had
never felt the danger. Had he not himself in his own hands? He was not
fond of whisky.
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