'That's as muckle as to say, accordin' to Cocker, that I'm no to speik a word against him.But I'll say what I like.He's no my maister,' said MacGregor, who could drink very little without suffering in his temper and manners; and who, besides, had a certain shrewd suspicion as to the person who still sat in the dark end of the room, possibly because the entrance of Mr.Lammie had interrupted the exorcism.
The chairman interposed with soothing words; and the whole company, Cocker included, did its best to pacify the manufacturer; for they all knew what would be the penalty if they failed.
A good deal of talk followed, and a good deal of whisky was drunk.
They were waited upon by Meg, who, without their being aware of it, cast a keen parting glance at them every time she left the room.At length the conversation had turned again to Andrew Falconer's death.
'Whaur said ye he dee'd, Mr.Lammie?'
'I never said he was deid.I said I was feared 'at he was deid.'
'An' what gars ye say that? It micht be o' consequence to hae 't correck,' said the solicitor.
'I had a letter frae my auld frien' and his, Dr.Anderson.Ye min'
upo' him, Mr.Innes, dunna ye? He's heid o' the medical boord at Calcutta noo.He says naething but that he doobts he's gane.He gaed up the country, and he hasna hard o' him for sae lang.We hae keepit up a correspondence for mony a year noo, Dr.Anderson an' me.
He was a relation o' Anerew's, ye ken--a second cousin, or something.He'll be hame or lang, I'm thinkin', wi' a fine pension.'
'He winna weir a cotton sark, I'll be boon',' said MacGregor.
'What's the auld leddy gaein' to du wi' that lang-leggit oye (grandson) o' hers, Anerew's son?' asked Sampson.
'Ow! he'll be gaein' to the college, I'm thinkin'.He's a fine lad, and a clever, they tell me,' said Mr.Thomson.
'Indeed, he's all that, and more too,' said the school-master.
'There's naething 'ull du but the college noo!' said MacGregor, whom nobody heeded, for fear of again rousing his anger.
'Hoo 'ill she manage that, honest woman? She maun hae but little to spare frae the cleedin' o' 'm.'
'She's a gude manager, Mistress Faukner.And, ye see, she has the bleachgreen yet.'
'She doesna weir cotton sarks,' growled MacGregor.'Mony's the wob o' mine she's bleached and boucht tu!'
Nobody heeding him yet, he began to feel insulted, and broke in upon the conversation with intent.
'Ye haena telt 's yet, Cocker,' he said, 'what that maister o' yours is duin' here at this time o' the year.I wad ken that, gin ye please.'
'How should I know, Mr.MacGregor?' returned the factor, taking no notice of the offensive manner in which the question was put.
'He's no a hair better nor ane o' thae Algerine pirates 'at Lord Exmooth's het the hips o'--and that's my opingon.'
'He's nae amo' your feet, MacGregor,' said the banker.'Ye micht jist lat him lie.'
'Gin I had him doon, faith gin I wadna lat him lie! I'll jist tell ye ae thing, gentlemen, that cam' to my knowledge no a hunner year ago.An' it's a' as true 's gospel, though I hae aye held my tongue aboot it till this verra nicht.Ay! ye'll a' hearken noo; but it's no lauchin', though there was sculduddery eneuch, nae doobt, afore it cam' that len'th.And mony a het drap did the puir lassie greet, I can tell ye.Faith! it was no lauchin' to her.She was a servan'
o' oors, an' a ticht bonnie lass she was.They ca'd her the weyver's bonny Mary--that's the name she gaed by.Weel, ye see--'
MacGregor was interrupted by a sound from the further end of the room.The stranger, whom most of them had by this time forgotten, had risen, and was approaching the table where they sat.
'Guid guide us!' interrupted several under their breaths, as all rose, 'it's Lord Sandy himsel'!'
'I thank you, gentleman,' he said, with a mixture of irony and contempt, 'for the interest you take in my private history.Ishould have thought it had been as little to the taste as it is to the honour of some of you to listen to such a farrago of lies.'
'Lees! my lord,' said MacGregor, starting to his feet.Mr.Cocker looked dismayed, and Mr.Lammie sheepish--all of them dazed and dumbfoundered, except the old weaver, who, as his lordship turned to leave the room, added:
'Lang lugs (ears) suld be made o' leather, my lord, for fear they grow het wi' what they hear.'
Lord Rothie turned in a rage.He too had been drinking.
'Kick that toad into the street, or, by heaven! it's the last drop any of you drink in this house!' he cried.
'The taed may tell the poddock (frog) what the rottan (rat) did i'
the taed's hole, my lord,' said MacGregor, whom independence, honesty, bile, and drink combined to render fearless.
Lord Sandy left the room without another word.His factor took his hat and followed him.The rest dropped into their seats in silence.
Mr.Lammie was the first to speak.
'There's a pliskie!' he said.
'I cud jist say the word efter auld Simeon,' said MacGregor.
'I never thocht to be sae favoured! Eh! but I hae langed, and noo Ihae spoken!' with which words he sat down, contented.
When Mr.Cocker overtook his master, as MacGregor had not unfitly styled him, he only got a damning for his pains, and went home considerably crestfallen.
Lord Rothie returned to the landlady in her parlour.
'What's the maitter wi' ye, my lord? What's vexed ye?' asked Miss Napier, with a twinkle in her eyes, for she thought, from the baron's mortification, he must have received some rebuff, and now that the bonnie leddy was safe at Captain Forsyth's, enjoyed the idea of it.
'Ye keep an ill-tongued hoose, Miss Naper,' answered his lordship.
Miss Napier guessed at the truth at once--that he had overheard some free remarks on his well-known licence of behaviour.