Part 33 (2/2)
”I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer lone.”
The little man began to whimper.
”It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad,” he said.
”Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please G.o.d. For yo' and yer Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'--yo' cheeseparin', dirty-tongued Jew.”
The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and fro, his face in his hands.
”Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us--the son o'
my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!”
David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken face and waved a hand at him.
”'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'” he cried in broken voice; and straightway set to sobbing again.
Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
”I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin',” he shouted back. ”I'd advise yo' to keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or happen yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'.”
In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
”And why that?” he asked, following down the hill.
”I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?”
”What should he be doin',” the little man replied, ”but havin' an eye to the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot.”
David laughed harshly.
”Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the evenin', ma man,” and with that he turned away again.
As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of his indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his original intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's sympathetic ear.
”There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me,” he was saying. It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing against his father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by the fire, knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging his long legs.
”And who may that be?” the girl asked.
”Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either o' them a mischief if he could.”
”But why, David?” she asked anxiously. ”I'm sure dad niver hurt him, or ony ither mon for the matter o' that.”
David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the mantelpiece in silvery majesty.
”It's yon done it,” he said. ”And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he will, bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all.”
Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
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