“Ay, but I will!” yelled Scoodrach, with the point of his keen knife denting in the bag.
“Ah!” shouted the old piper again; and he made a movement toward the boy.
But Scoodrach was too quick. He stepped back, raised his arm, and seemed about to plunge the knife through the green baize.
“She’ll preak her heart,” groaned the old piper.
“Shall she let her go, then?” cried Scoodrach.
The old man caught hold of his hair by handfuls and gave it a tremendous tug.
“Don’t cut, Scood,” cried Kenneth.
“Go on down, and she shall come aifter. She’ll slit ta bahg oop if Tonald ton’t sit town.”
The old man’s breast heaved, and he gazed piteously at his instrument; following Scoodrach slowly, as that young gentleman edged round by the side of the wall till he reached the door, through which Kenneth had passed, and where he was now standing holding on by Max, both being intensely interested spectators of the scene.
“Rip her recht up,” cried Scoodrach. “Noo, Maister Kenneth, are ye ready?”