“Half a croon!” echoed Grizzie, staggered at the largeness of the demand. “Haith, sir, ye’re no blate (bashful )!”
“I dinna think it’s ower muckle,” said Cosmo, “seein’ I hae to tramp five an’ thirty mile the morn. But bake ye plenty o’ breid, an’ that’ll haud doon the expence. Only, gien he can help it, a body sudna be wantin’ a baubee in ’s pooch. Gien ye had nane to gie me, I wad set oot bare. But jist as ye like, Grizzie! I cud beg to be sure—noo ye hae shawn the gait,” he added, taking the old woman by the arm with a laugh, that she might not be hurt, “but whan ye ken ye sudna speir, an’ whan ye hae, ye hae no richt to beg.”
“Weel, I’ll gie ye auchteen pence, an’ considerin’ a’ ’at’s to be dune wi’ what’s left, ye’ll hae to grant it’s no an oonfair portion.”
“Weel, weel, Grizzie! I’m thinkin’ I’ll hae to be content.”
“’Deed, an’ ye wull, sir! Ye s’ hae nae mair.”
That night the old laird slept soundly, but Cosmo, ever on the brink of unconsciousness, was blown back by a fresh gust of gladness. The morning came golden and brave, and his father was well enough to admit of his leaving him. So he set out, and in the strength of his relief walked all the way without spending a half-penny of Grizzie’s eighteen pence: two days before, he would consult his friend how to avoid the bitterest dregs of poverty; now he must find from him how to make his riches best available!
He did not tell Mr. Burns, however, what his final object was—only begged him, for the sake of friendship and old times, to go with him for a day or two to his father’s.
“But, Mr. Warlock,” objected the jeweller, “that would be taking the play, and we’ve got to be diligent in business.”
“The thing I want you for is business,” replied Cosmo.
“But what’s to be done with the shop? I have no assistant I can trust.”