“Y're a guid lad,” said the Scot demurely; “y're just as decent a body as ever I forgathered wi'—and I'm thinking it's a sin to let ye gang twa miles for mairchandeeze whan ye can hae it a hantle cheaper at your ain door.”
“Can I? I don't know what you mean.”
“Ye dinna ken what I mean? Maybe no.”
Mr. McLaughlan fell into thought a while, and the grog being finished he proposed a stroll. He took George out into the yard, and there the first thing they saw was a score and a half of bullocks that had just been driven into a circle and were maintained there by two men and two dogs.
George's eye brightened at the sight and his host watched it. “Aweel,” said he, “has Tamson a bonnier lot than yon to gie ye?”
“I don't know,” said George dryly. “I have not seen his.”
“But I hae—and he hasna a lot to even wi' them.”
“I shall know to-morrow,” said George. But he eyed McLaughlan's cattle with an expression there was no mistaking.
“Aweel,” said the worthy Scot, “ye're a neebor and a decent lad ye are, sae I'll just speer ye ane question. Noo, mon,” continued he in a most mellifluous tone and pausing at every word, “gien it were Monday—as it is the Sabba day—hoo mony sheep wud ye gie for yon bonnie beasties?”
George, finding his friend in this mind, pretended to hang back and to consider himself bound to treat with Thomson first. The result of all which was that McLaughlan came over to him at daybreak and George made a very profitable exchange with him.