Ye winna _gie_
onything i' this chop, I doobt???-nae even information.???-Will ye _sell_
me an unce o' pigtail?"
"Ow, ay. I'll sell't gin ye'll buy't."
"There's the bawbees," said Cupples, laying the orthodox pence on the
counter. "And noo will ye tell me whaur I can get a respectable, dacent
place to lie doon in? I'll want it for a week, at ony rate."
Before he had finished the question, the door behind the counter had
opened, and young Bruce had entered. Mr Cupples knew him well enough by
sight as a last year's bejan.
"How are you?" he said. "I know you, though I don't know your name."
"My name's Robert Bruce, Mr Cupples."
"A fine name???-Robert Bruce," he replied.
The youth turned to his father, and said???-
"This gentleman is the librarian of our college, father."
Bruce took his hat off his head, and set it on the counter.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I'm terrible short-sichtit in
can'le-licht."
"I'm used to bein' mista'en'," answered Cupples simply, perceiving that
he had got hold of a character. "Mak nae apologies, I beg ye, but
answer my queston."
"Weel, sir, to tell the trowth, seein' ye're a gentleman, we hae a room
oorsels.
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