"Ah, Wattie!" said the man, who had been standing at the door of the great house, "what has brought you to Perth, and how are you and all your people, and good Sir George Ramsay, your master?"
"They're all well, sir," answered the man; "though, to speak truth, I have not seen Sir George this many a day. I've been with the court, Mr. Henderson, trying what I could do to better my fortune--all with my good master's leave, however; and his brother John is doing all he can to help me."
"Well, I hope you will have good luck," replied Andrew Henderson, the Earl of Gowrie's factor, or bailiff. "I wish I could do you any good, Wattie; but the earl has been so long gone, that he can help little; and as to Mr. Alexander, the wild lad and I are not such great friends."
"You can help me, nevertheless, very much, Andrew," replied the other; "for you are just the man who must do it, if any one does."
"How's that--how's that, Wattie?" asked Henderson. "I will do anything I can, man."
"Why, the case is just this," answered Sir George Ramsay's man: "the old supervisor at Scoon is dead; and I'm to have the place, which his majesty has graciously condescended to promise to Master John Ramsay, if I can get the earl's factor's good word. Now, who's the factor but yourself, man?"
"Then my good word you shall have, Wattie," replied Henderson, slapping him on the shoulder. "Didn't your wife's cousin Jane marry my half-brother's second son? I'll write you a letter commendatory, in a minute, to the honourable comptroller of his majesty's household. But where have you put your horse, man?"
"Oh, I just left him at Murray's Inn," replied the other; "not knowing whether I should find you or not. Come and take a stoup of wine, Andrew; and you can write the letter there."
This proposal was readily agreed to, for Andrew Henderson was a man who by no means objected to that good thing called a stoup of wine. He called to an old woman who was now in the court, saying, "Here, Nelly, take the keys; I'm going to Murray's Inn." And the two were soon seated in the public room of Murray's Inn, as it was called, with several other persons who were drinking there likewise. George Murray, the keeper of the inn, was a man of good family, though it is supposed of illegitimate birth; but what is certain is, that he had the best wine in the town, and that his house was frequented by all the principal gentlemen in the neighbourhood. Henderson and Sir George Ramsay's man were soon supplied with what they wanted, and sat drinking and talking for about half an hour; at the end of which time a horse's feet were heard to stop opposite to the inn, and a minute after, David Drummond, the dull looking servant of the Earl of Gowrie, entered the room and looked round. The cheerful countenances of Andrew Henderson and his friend Wattie changed the moment they saw him; and Henderson exclaimed, "Ah, Davie, is that you, man? What brings you to Perth? Is the earl coming?"
"Ay, is he, Henderson," answered the man, looking heavily at Sir George Ramsay's servant. "He'll be here in five minutes, and sent me on to tell you. So you must get up and come away to the Great House directly, for I've been there seeking you."