"Whaever ye say that till, dinna say't to me."
Bruce was anything but a quarrelsome man with other than his inferiors.
He pocketed the lie very calmly.
"Dinna lowse yer temper, Mr Doo. It's a sair fau't that."
"Jist ye deliver up the bairn's effecks, or I'll gang to them that'll
gar ye."
"Wha micht that be, Mr Doo?" asked Bruce, wishing first to find out how
far Dow was prepared to go.
"Ye hae no richt whatever to keep that lassie's claes, as gin she aucht
(owed) you onything for rent."
"Hae _ye_ ony richt to tak them awa'? Hoo ken I what'll come o' them?"
"Weel, I s' awa' doon to Mr Gibb, and we'll see what can be dune there.
It's weel kent ower a' Glamerton, Mr Bruce, in what mainner you and yer
haill hoose hae borne yersels to that orphan lassie; and I'll gang into
ilka chop, as I gang doon the street, that is, whaur I'm acquant, and
I'll jist tell them whaur I'm gaun, and what for."
The thing which beyond all others Bruce dreaded was unremunerative
notoriety.
"Hoots! Jeames Doo, ye dinna ken jokin' frae jeistin'. I never was the
man to set mysel' i' the face o' onything rizzonable. But ye see it wad
be cast up to the haill o' 's that we had driven the puir lassie oot o'
the hoose, and syne flung her things efter her.
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