“A' thocht it wesna that,” as Drumsheugh shook his head; “a'm jidgin' that ye hae a sorrow the Glen disna ken, and wud like an auld freend tae feel the wecht o't wi' ye.”
Drumsheugh looked as if that was nearer the mark, but still he was silent.
“A', ken what ye're feelin' for a' cudna speak masel,” and then he added, at the sight of his friend's face, “Dinna gar yirsel speak against yir wull. We 'ill say naethin' mair aboot it.... Did ye hear o' Hillocks coupin' intae the drift till there wes naethin' seen but his heels, and Gormack sayin', 'Whar are ye aff tae noo, Hillocks?'”
“A' maun speak,” burst out Drumsheugh; “a've carried ma tribble for mair than thirty year, and cud hae borne it till the end, but ae thing a' canna stand, an' that is, that aither you or me dee afore a've cleared ma name.”
“Yir name?” and the doctor regarded Drumsheugh with amazement.
“Ay, ma character; a've naethin' else, Weelum, naither wife nor bairns, so a'm jealous o't, though fouk michtna think it.
“Noo, gin onybody in Muirtown askit ma certeeficat o' a Drumtochty neebur, gie me his answer,” and Drumsheugh turned suddenly on Maclure, who was much confused.
“Nae Drumtochty man wud say ony ill o' ye; he daurna, for ye've gien him nae occasion, an' ye surely ken that yirsel withoot askin'.” But Drumsheugh was still waiting.
“He micht say that ye were juist a wee,” and then he broke off, “but what need ye care for the havers of a market? fouk 'ill hae their joke.”
“Ye said a wee; what is't, Weelum?” and the doctor saw there was to be no escape.
“Weel, they micht maybe sayin' behind yir back, Drum, what some o' them wud say tae yir face, meanin' nae evil, ye ken, that ye were... carefu', in fact, an'... keen aboot the bawbees. Naethin' mair nor worse than that, as a 'm sittin' here.”
“Naethin' mair, said ye?” Drumsheugh spoke with much bitterness--“an' is yon little?
“Carefu';' ye 've a gude-hearted man, Weelum; miser's nearer it, a 'm dootin', a wratch that 'ill hae the laist penny in a bargain, and no spend a saxpence gin he can keep it.”
“They 've hed mony a lauch in the train ower ma tigs wi' the dealers, an' some o' them wud hae like tae hev cam aff as weel--a cratur like Milton; but what dis Burnbrae, 'at coonted his verra livin' less than his principles, or auld Domsie, that's dead an' gane noo, 'at wud hae spent his laist shillin' sendin' a laddie tae the College--he gied it tae me aince het, like the man he wes--or the minister, wha wud dee raither than condescend tae a meanness, or what can... Marget Hoo think o' me?” and the wail in Drumsheugh's voice went to the heart of Maclure.