'Weel, my lord, I do my best.A body canna keep an inn and speir the carritchis (catechism) at the door o' 't.But I believe ye're i' the richt, my lord, for I heard an awfu' aff-gang o' sweirin' i'
the yard, jist afore yer lordship cam' in.An' noo' 'at I think o'
't, it wasna that onlike yer lordship's ain word.'
Lord Sandy broke into a loud laugh.He could enjoy a joke against himself when it came from a woman, and was founded on such a trifle as a personal vice.
'I think I'll go to bed,' he said when his laugh was over.'Ibelieve it's the only safe place from your tongue, Miss Naper.'
'Letty,' cried Miss Napier, 'fess a can'le, and show his lordship to the reid room.'
Till Miss Letty appeared, the baron sat and stretched himself.He then rose and followed her into the archway, and up an outside stair to a door which opened immediately upon a handsome old-fashioned room, where a blazing fire lighted up the red hangings.Miss Letty set down the candle, and bidding his lordship good night, turned and left the room, shutting the door, and locking it behind her--a proceeding of which his lordship took no notice, for, however especially suitable it might be in his case, it was only, from whatever ancient source derived, the custom of the house in regard to this particular room and a corresponding chamber on the opposite side of the archway.
Meantime the consternation amongst the members of the club was not so great as not to be talked over, or to prevent the call for more whisky and hot water.All but MacGregor, however, regretted what had occurred.He was so elevated with his victory and a sense of courage and prowess, that he became more and more facetious and overbearing.
'It's all very well for you, Mr.MacGregor,' said the dominie, with dignity: 'you have nothing to lose.'
'Troth! he canna brak the bank--eh, Mr.Tamson?'
'He may give me a hint to make you withdraw your money, though, Mr.
MacGregor.'
'De'il care gin I do!' returned the weaver.'I can mak' better o' 't ony day.'
'But there's yer hoose an' kailyard,' suggested Peddie.
'They're ma ain!--a' ma ain! He canna lay 's finger on onything o'
mine but my servan' lass,' cried the weaver, slapping his thigh-bone--for there was little else to slap.
Meg, at the moment, was taking her exit-glance.She went straight to Miss Napier.
'Willie MacGregor's had eneuch, mem, an' a drappy ower.'
'Sen' Caumill doon to Mrs.MacGregor to say wi' my compliments that she wad do weel to sen' for him,' was the response.
Meantime he grew more than troublesome.Ever on the outlook, when sober, after the foibles of others, he laid himself open to endless ridicule when in drink, which, to tell the truth, was a rare occurrence.He was in the midst of a prophetic denunciation of the vices of the nobility, and especially of Lord Rothie, when Meg, entering the room, went quietly behind his chair and whispered:
'Maister MacGregor, there's a lassie come for ye.'
'I'm nae in,' he answered, magnificently.
'But it's the mistress 'at's sent for ye.Somebody's wantin' ye.'
'Somebody maun want me, than.--As I was sayin', Mr.Cheerman and gentlemen--'
'Mistress MacGregor 'll be efter ye hersel', gin ye dinna gang,'
said Meg.
'Let her come.Duv ye think I'm fleyt at her? De'il a step 'll Igang till I please.Tell her that, Meg.'
Meg left the room, with a broad grin on her good-humoured face.
'What's the bitch lauchin' at?' exclaimed MacGregor, starting to his feet.
The whole company rose likewise, using their endeavour to persuade him to go home.
'Duv ye think I'm drunk, sirs? I'll lat ye ken I'm no drunk.I hae a wull o' mine ain yet.Am I to gang hame wi' a lassie to haud me oot o' the gutters? Gin ye daur to alloo that I'm drunk, ye ken hoo ye'll fare, for de'il a fit 'll I gang oot o' this till I hae anither tum'ler.'
'I'm thinkin' there's mair o' 's jist want ane mair,' said Peddie.
A confirmatory murmur arose as each looked into the bottom of his tumbler, and the bell was instantly rung.But it only brought Meg back with the message that it was time for them all to go home.
Every eye turned upon MacGregor reproachfully.
'Ye needna luik at me that gait, sirs.I'm no fou,' said he.
''Deed no.Naebody taks ye to be,' answered the chairman.'Meggie, there's naebody's had ower muckle yet, and twa or three o' 's hasna had freely eneuch.Jist gang an' fess a mutchkin mair.An'
there'll be a shillin' to yersel', lass.'
Meg retired, but straightway returned.
'Miss Naper says there's no a drap mair drink to be had i' this hoose the nicht.'
'Here, Meggie,' said the chairman, 'there's yer shillin'; and ye jist gang to Miss Lettie, and gie her my compliments, and say that Mr.Lammie's here, and we haena seen him for a lang time.And'--the rest was spoken in a whisper--'I'll sweir to ye, Meggie, the weyver body sanna hae ae drap o' 't.'
Meg withdrew once more, and returned.
'Miss Letty's compliments, sir, and Miss Naper has the keys, and she's gane till her bed, and we maunna disturb her.And it's time 'at a' honest fowk was in their beds tu.And gin Mr.Lammie wants a bed i' this hoose, he maun gang till 't.An' here's his can'le.
Gude nicht to ye a', gentlemen.'
So saying, Meg set the lighted candle on the sideboard, and finally vanished.The good-tempered, who formed the greater part of the company, smiled to each other, and emptied the last drops of their toddy first into their glasses, and thence into their mouths.The ill-tempered, numbering but one more than MacGregor, growled and swore a little, the weaver declaring that he would not go home.But the rest walked out and left him, and at last, appalled by the silence, he rose with his wig awry, and trotted--he always trotted when he was tipsy--home to his wife.
