"Keep the sovereign. I may need more. Tell
me when it is all spent," and he filled a bumper and drained it without
a halt.
"Weel, ye may be dirty at many a thing," she observed, as she noted his
action, "but you're a gey clean drinker o' whusky anyway," and she left
him with his bottle to fuddle alone.
"A gey queer body that," she mused, as she returned to the bar. "Lod!
he's like a wannert thunder-storm, growlin' and grumblin', as if he had
got lost frae the rest o' his company. But he seems to hae plenty o'
siller anyway," she concluded, "an' he can drink whusky wi' anybody I
ever seen try it."
By and by a village worthy came in, and he was at once hailed by Black
Jock, and invited to have a glass.
"What are you drinkin', chappie?" he enquired.
"Same as you," was the reply, while a smile of pleased anticipation
hovered round the worthy's face at this unexpected good fortune. "I jist
ay tak' a moothfu' o' whusky. As a maitter o' fact, I was brocht up on
the bottle, and I hae never been spained yet."
"Right you are, cocky! Drink up! You're the man I am lookin' for to help
me to spend an hour or twa."
"That'll suit me a' to bits," was the reply, "an' you are jist the man I
hae been lookin' for.
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