I wadna' ha'e the damn'd thing in that way,
an' if he does win it he'll hae nae honor in it."
"But Rab's runnin' weel," Matthew continued, as he followed the runners
with eager eyes, and stuck the head of his pipe in his mouth in his
excitement, burning his lips in the process. "Dammit, I've burned my
mooth," he ejaculated, spluttering, spitting and wiping his mouth. "But
the laddie can rin. He's a fair dandie o' a rinner."
"He couldna' rin to catch the cauld," broke in Rundell's admirer, glad
to get in a word. "Look at him. Dammit, ye could wheel a barrow oot
through his legs. He jist rummles alang like a chained tame
earthquake."
"What's that?" asked Matthew, somewhat nettled at this manner of
describing Robert's slightly bent legs. "He canna rin, ye say! Weel, if
he couldna' rin better than Peter Rundell, he should never try it. Look
at Rundell!" he went on scathingly, "doubled up like a fancy canary, and
a hump on his back like a greyhound licking a pot. Rinnin'! He's mair
like an exhibition o' a rin-a-way toy rainbow. He's aboot as souple as a
stookie Christ on a Christmas tree!" And Matthew glared at the other, as
if he would devour him at a gulp.
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