For a time Ramsay stood firmly out, always reminding M. N. of his own proposition, but the man was so impressively urgent, appealing again and again on the score of his wife's critical condition, that at last Ramsay's scruples gave way, and M. N., lavish in his thanks, left the office with the ten pounds in his pocket.
It is, perhaps, needless to say that M. N. was not seen in Fleet Street for many days, and when he did turn up, shaky and dilapidated in appearance, it was only to load Ramsay with the most crushing abuse for having broken faith with him, and when Ramsay tried to shelter himself under the pathetic tale he had told about his sick wife and dead son, he only replied:
"D—— the sick wife and dead son! Why didn't you stick to your promise? I told you distinctly that it was possible I might come with some trumped-up story of urgent necessity, and a lot of such rubbish, and now see what a hole you have let me into. My son is perfectly well, and as healthy a lad as ever lived, and as for my wife, well, she was never better in her life, and is only suffering from the misery brought about by your unaccountably bad behaviour to me. I tell you, Ramsay, you are a traitor and a false friend, who has used me shamefully—shamefully!"
With these words M. N. left the office, but returned within half an hour seeking condonation, begging that Ramsay would overlook the foolish words he had used in a moment of unjustifiable irritation, and further show his good feeling by advancing him a trifle—say, a sovereign? No? Well, then, let it be five shillings? Still no! Ramsay was obdurate, and M. N., muttering, "Cruel man! Cruel, cruel man!" went away.
Mackay, as the Bailie Nicol Jarvie.
FROM THE ABBOTSFORD EDITION' OF "ROB ROY."
From a Painting by Sir William Allan, R.A., F.R.S.A.
By permission of Messrs. Adam & Charles Black.