"God, it's true," said the post. "I had it frae Jock Hutchison, the clerk in Skeighan Goudie's. He got fou yestreen on the road to Barbie and blabbed it—he'll lose his job, yon chap, if he doesna keep his mouth shut. True! ay, it's true! There's damn the doubt o' that."
Toddle corrugated his mouth to whistle. He turned and stared at the House with the Green Shutters, gawcey and substantial on its terrace, beneath the tremulous beauty of the dawn. There was a glorious sunrise.
"God!" he said, "what a downcome for that hoose!"
"Is it no'?" chuckled Postie.
"Whose account is it on?" said Toddle.
"Oh, I don't ken," said Postie carelessly. "He had creditors a' owre the country. I was ay bringing the big blue envelopes from different airts. Don't mention this, now," he added, his finger up, his eye significant; "it shouldn't be known at a-all." He was unwilling that Toddle should get an unfair start, and spoil his own market for the news.
"Nut me!" Toddle assured him grandly, shaking his head as who should conduct of that kind a thousand miles off—"nut me, Post! I'll no breathe it to a living soul."
The post clattered in to Mrs. Gourlay's back door. He had a heavy under-stamped letter on which there was threepence to pay. He might pick up an item or two while she was getting him the bawbees.
He knocked, but there was no answer.
"The sluts!" said he, with a humph of disgust; "they're still on their backs, it seems."