"Yer room's mair to my taste than yer company the noo."
"My! that was an awfu' way to talk to the meenister," said Mrs. Sinclair
when the door was again closed. "You micht aye try to be civil to folk,"
and there was resentment in her voice.
"Ach, dammit, wha can be bothered wi' thae kind o' folk yapping roun'
about when yer washin' yerself. He micht ken no' to come at this time,
when men are comin' hame frae their work," and he went on with his
splashing. "Here, gi'e my back a rub," and he lay over the tub while she
washed his back from the shoulders downward, making it clean and free
from the coal dust and grime. Then she proceeded to dry him all over
with a rough towel, after which he put on a clean shirt, and taking off
his pit trousers, stepped into the tub and began to wash his lower limbs
and make them as clean as the upper part of the body.
"Ach, folk should ha'e a place to wash in anyway," he grumbled, as if to
justify his outburst, for secretly he was beginning to feel ashamed of
it. "The folk that ha'e the maist need o' a bath are the folk wha never
get the chance o' yin," he went on. "Look at that chap wha was in the
noo. He never needs to dirty a finger, an' look at the hoose he has to
bide in, wi' its fine bathroom an' a' things that he needs.
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