"It'll be ower big," said Gladys.
"Aweel," retorted Janet, "he can gie the half o't to the Mester, and maybe the other half will do for Peter Mitchell's funeral."
"What!" I cried, "is Peter dead?"
"No exactly," said Janet hopefully, "but he's badly wi' the chronic, and he'll maybe dee."
"That settles the question of the cake," I said, "but you have still to settle the question of Margaret."
"She can marry Joe Simpson," suggested Ellen.
"Aye," said Jean, "and she'll hae to work oot, and feed the three black swine. She wud be better to tak Dave Young, for he has only twa swine to feed."
"Be an auld maid, Maggie," said Janet, "and keep a cat. A man's just a fair scutter onywve ... especially a delicate man that taks effielinza and lies in his bed. Ye'll be far better as an auld maid, Maggie. Ye'll no hae ony bairns, but bairns is just a nuisance."
"I'll be an old maid then," said Margaret.
"Now you've disposed of the cake and the lady," I said, "what is to become of me?"