Tammie’s heart swelled to his mouth. “Ah, maister,” he said, “ye’re joking. What should ye have done that ye should be ta’en to sic an ill place?”
“Ay, Tammie, lad,” answered I, “it is but ower true.”
“Weel, weel,” quo’ Tammie—I really thought it a great deal of the laddie—“weel, weel, they canna prevent me coming to sew beside ye; and if I can take
the measure of customers without, ye can cut the claith within. But what is’t for, maister?”
“Come in here,” said I to him, “and believe your ain een, Tammie, my man.”
“Losh me!” cried the poor laddie, glowring at the bloody face of the man in the bed, and starting back on his tip-toes. “Ay—ay—ay! maister; save us, maister; ay—ay—ay—you have na cloured his harnpan with the guse? Ay, maister, maister! whaten an unearthly sight!! I doubt they’ll hang us a’; you for doing’t—and me on suspicion—and Benjie as art and part, puir thing! But I’ll rin for a doctor. Will I, maister?”
The thought had never struck me before, being in a sort of a manner dung stupid; but catching up the word, I said with all my pith and birr, “Rin, rin, Tammie, rin for life and death!”
Tammie bolted like a nine-year-old, never looking behind his tail; so, in less than ten minutes, he returned, hauling along old Doctor Peelbox, whom he had waukened out of his bed, in a camblet morning-gown, and a pair of red slippers, by the lug and horn, at the very time I was trying to quiet young Benjie, who was following me up and down the house, as I was pacing to and fro in distraction, girning and whingeing for his breakfast.
“Bad business, bad business; bless us, what is this?” said the old Doctor, who was near-sighted, staring at
Magneezhy’s bloody face through his silver spectacles—“what’s the matter?”