“What's her business picking up a mon against his will?” said a woman.
“She's an awfu' lassie,” whined another. The examination of the swimmer was then continued, and the crowd increased; some would have it he was rapidly approaching, others that he made little or no way.
“Wha est?” said another.
“It's a lummy,” said a girl.
“Na! it's no a lummy,” said another.
Christie's boat was now seen standing out from the pier. Sandy Liston, casting a contemptuous look on all the rest, lifted himself lazily into the herring-boat and looked seaward. His manner changed in a moment.
“The Deevil!” cried he; “the tide's turned! You wi' your glass, could you no see yon man's drifting oot to sea?”
“Hech!” cried the women, “he'll be drooned—he'll be drooned!”
“Yes; he'll be drooned!” cried Sandy, “if yon lassie does na come alongside him deevelich quick—he's sair spent, I doot.”
Two spectators were now added to the scene, Mrs. Gatty and Lord Ipsden. Mrs. Gatty inquired what was the matter.