Cocker.
'Me!' returned MacGregor, with indignation. 'The Lord forgie ye for
mintin' (hinting) at sic a thing, Mr. Cocker! Me tak' to coaton! I
wad as sune spin the hair frae Sawtan's hurdies. Short fushionless
dirt, that canna grow straucht oot o' the halesome yird, like the
bonnie lint-bells, but maun stick itsel' upo' a buss!--set it up!
Coorse vulgar stuff, 'at naebody wad weir but loup-coonter lads
that wad fain luik like gentlemen by means o' the collars and
ruffles--an' a' comin' frae the auld loom! They may weel affoord
se'enteen hunner linen to set it aff wi' 'at has naething but coaton
inside the breeks o' them.'
'But Dr. Wagstaff says it's healthier,' interposed Peddie.
'I'll wag a staff till him. De'il a bit o' 't 's healthier! an'
that he kens. It's nae sae healthy, an' sae it mak's him mair wark
wi' 's poothers an' his drauchts, an' ither stinkin' stuff.
Healthier! What neist?'
'Somebody tellt me,' said the bookseller, inwardly conscious of
offence, ''at hoo Lord Sandy himsel' weirs cotton.'
'Ow 'deed, maybe. And he sets mony a worthy example furbye. Hoo
mony, can ye tell me, Mr. Peddie, has he pulled doon frae honest, if
no frae high estate, and sent oot to seek their livin' as he taucht
them? Hoo mony--?'
'Hoot, hoot! Mr. MacGregor, his lordship hasn't a cotton shirt in
his possession, I'll be bound,' said Mr. Cocker. 'And, besides, you
have not to wash his dirty linen--or cotton either.
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