Too simple to suspect the real reason, but with a heart that
delighted in obedience, Robert bade her good-night at once, and took
another way.
As he passed the door of Merson the haberdasher's shop, there stood
William MacGregor, the weaver, looking at nothing and doing nothing.
We have seen something of him before: he was a remarkable compound
of good nature and bad temper. People were generally afraid of him,
because he had a biting satire at his command, amounting even to
wit, which found vent in verse--not altogether despicable even from
a literary point of view. The only person he, on his part, was
afraid of, was his own wife; for upon her, from lack of
apprehension, his keenest irony fell, as he said, like water on a
duck's back, and in respect of her he had, therefore, no weapon of
offence to strike terror withal. Her dulness was her defence. He
liked Robert. When he saw him, he wakened up, laid hold of him by
the button, and drew him in.
'Come in, lad,' he said, 'an' tak a pinch. I'm waitin' for Merson.'
As he spoke he took from his pocket his mull, made of the end of a
ram's horn, and presented it to Robert, who accepted the pledge of
friendship. While he was partaking, MacGregor drew himself with
some effort upon the counter, saying in a half-comical,
half-admonitory tone,
'Weel, and hoo's the mathematics, Robert?'
'Thrivin',' answered Robert, falling into his humour.
'Weel, that's verra weel.
Pages:
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460