“I could ha’e been in the business if I had wanted,” Macgregor replied, with some dignity. “He offered me a job when I left the schule. But, ye see, I aye had the notion to be a penter. I like to be movin’ ma han’s an’ feet.”
“An’ what did yer parents say?”
“They canna thole Aunt Purdie. It was her that brought the message frae ma uncle—as if it was a favour. They said I was to choose for masel’.”
“Pride’s an awfu’ thing for costin’ folk cash,” the girl remarked, with a shake of her head.
“Eh?”
“Naething,” she replied. After a slight pause she continued: “It’s no’ for me to speak aboot yer parents, but I hope ye’ll excuse me sayin’ that ye’re a bigger fool than ye look.”
“Wha—what d’ye mean?”
“I didna mean to insult ye or hurt yer feelin’s.” Another pause. “D’ye no’ want to get up in the world, man? D’ye no’ want to be a millionaire—or a thoosandaire, onyway?”
“Me?”
“Ay, you!”