“Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!” he yelled; but his father seized him and held him back.
“'And the dogs o' the street,'” he quoted. David turned furiously on him.
“I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!” he shouted, “robbin' me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!”
“Whist, David, whist!” soothed the little man. “Twas but for yer ain good yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye has. Rin aff wi' ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt. She's leeberal wi' her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll come.”
David seized his father by the shoulder.
“An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce,” he roared.
“Sauce, Wullie,” the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
“I'll twist yer neck for yo'!”
“He'll twist my neck for me.”
“I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer lone.”