John fervently hoped there would be no more to say on this subject, and when day after day went by without any reference to Hastie or Robert Leslie, John Callendar felt much relieved. David also had limited himself to one glass of toddy at night, and this unspoken confession and reformation was a great consolation to the old man. He said to himself that the evil he dreaded had gone by his door, and he was rather complacent over the bold stand he had taken.
That day, as he was slowly walking through the Exchange, pondering a proposal for Virginia goods, Deacon Strang accosted him. "Callendar, a good day to ye; I congratulate ye on the new firm o' Callendar & Leslie. They are brave lads, and like enough—if a' goes weel—to do weel."
John did not allow an eyelash to betray his surprise and chagrin. "Ah, Strang!" he answered, "the Callendars are a big clan, and we are a' kin; sae, if you tak to congratulating me on every Callendar whose name ye see aboon a doorstep, you'll hae mair business on hand than you'll ken how to manage. A good day to you!" But Deacon Callendar went up Great George street that day with a heavy, angry heart. His nephew opened the door for him. "Uncle John, I have been looking all over for you. I have something to tell you."
"Fiddler's news, Davie. I hae heard it already. Sae you hae struck hands wi' Robert Leslie after a', eh?"
"He had my promise, uncle, before I spoke to you. I could not break it."
"H'm! Where did you get the #2,000?"
"I borrowed it."
"Then I hope 'the party' looked weel into the business."
"They did not. It was loaned to me on my simple representation."
"'Simple representation!' Vera simple! It was some woman, dootless."