Thomas half expected to hear of an
action for libel, but Robert knew better than venture upon that.
Besides, no damages could be got out of Thomas.
When Bruce was once outside the chapel, he assumed the erect posture to
which his claim was entirely one of species, and went home by
circuitous ways. He found the shop still open, attended by his wife.
"Preserve's, Robert! what's come ower ye?" she exclaimed.
"I had sic a sair heid (headache), I was forced to come oot afore a'
was dune," he answered. "I dinna think I'll gang ony mair, for they
dinna conduc' things a'thegither to my likin'. I winna fash mair wi'
them."
His wife looked at him anxiously, perhaps with some vague suspicion of
the truth; but she said nothing, and I do not believe the matter was
ever alluded to between them. The only indications remaining the next
day of what he had gone through that evening, consisted in an increase
of suavity towards his grown customers, and of acerbity towards the
children who were unfortunate enough to enter his shop.
Of the two, however, perhaps Thomas Crann was the more unhappy as he
went home that night. He felt nothing of the elation which commonly
springs from success in a cherished project.
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