“It’ll be three mile,” said John.
Jeannie came from the fire and put a fresh slice of toast on his plate. He nodded his thanks, and she went to her place satisfied and assisted Jimsie who had got into difficulties with a jam sandwich that oozed all round.
“What way did ye no’ tak’ the car, laddie?” enquired Lizzie.
“I’d as sune walk,” he replied, shortly.
“It’s fine to save the siller—eh, Macgreegor?” said Mr. Purdie.
Macgregor reddened.
“It’s something new for Macgreegor to dae that,” Lizzie quietly observed.
“Tits, wumman!” muttered John.
“Wi’ their cheap cars,” put in Mr. Purdie, “Glesga folk are like to loss the use o’ their legs. It’s terrible to see the number o’ young folk that winna walk if they’ve a bawbee in their pooch. I’m gled to see Macgreegor’s no’ yin o’ them.” He patted Macgregor’s shoulder as he might have done ten years ago, and the youth moved impatiently.
“I’m no’ complainin’ o’ Macgreegor walkin’ when he micht tak’ the car,” said Lizzie, “but I wud like to see him puttin’ his savin’s to some guid purpose.”