“Nae Drumtochty man wud say ony ill o' ye; he daurna, for ye've gien him nae occasion, an' ye surely ken that yirsel withoot askin'.” But Drumsheugh was still waiting.
“He micht say that ye were juist a wee,” and then he broke off, “but what need ye care for the havers of a market? fouk 'ill hae their joke.”
“Ye said a wee; what is't, Weelum?” and the doctor saw there was to be no escape.
“Weel, they micht maybe sayin' behind yir back, Drum, what some o' them wud say tae yir face, meanin' nae evil, ye ken, that ye were... carefu', in fact, an'... keen aboot the bawbees. Naethin' mair nor worse than that, as a 'm sittin' here.”
“Naethin' mair, said ye?” Drumsheugh spoke with much bitterness—“an' is yon little?
“Carefu';' ye 've a gude-hearted man, Weelum; miser's nearer it, a 'm dootin', a wratch that 'ill hae the laist penny in a bargain, and no spend a saxpence gin he can keep it.”
Maclure saw it was not a time to speak.
“They 've hed mony a lauch in the train ower ma tigs wi' the dealers, an' some o' them wud hae like tae hev cam aff as weel—a cratur like Milton; but what dis Burnbrae, 'at coonted his verra livin' less than his principles, or auld Domsie, that's dead an' gane noo, 'at wud hae spent his laist shillin' sendin' a laddie tae the College—he gied it tae me aince het, like the man he wes—or the minister, wha wud dee raither than condescend tae a meanness, or what can... Marget Hoo think o' me?” and the wail in Drumsheugh's voice went to the heart of Maclure.
“Dinna tak on like this, Drum; it's waesome tae hear ye, an' it 's clean havers ye 're speakin' the nicht. Didna Domsie get mony a note frae ye for his college laddies?—a 've heard him on't—an' it wes you 'at paid Geordie Hoo's fees, an' wha wes't brocht Sir George an' savit Annie Mitchell's life—?”
“That didna cost me muckle in the end, sin' it wes your daein' an' no mine; an' as for the bit fees for the puir scholars, they were naethin' ava.