"Warm enough where I have been," he replied bluntly. "Gie's something to drink in whusky!"
"So it wad seem," she said in reply, noting his beaded forehead, as he wiped it with a colored handkerchief.
"You've surely been gey hard ca'd wherever you hae been," and there was a note of curiosity in her voice.
"I want a drink," he broke in abruptly, "an' it doesna matter a damn to you whether I hae been hard ca'd or no'. You're surely hellish keen to hae news. Dis a' your customers get the Catechism when they come in here?" he queried. "If they do, I may as well tell you to begin with, that I came in for whusky, an' no' to staun' an examination."
She saw at once that he resented her leisurely way and her attempt at affability, and she hastened to apologize.
"Look dam'd sharp," he growled, as she attended to his order. "I want whusky and plenty o' it."
"You are in an unco' hurry," she replied, getting nettled, as she filled a glass. "It doesna' do to be so snottery as a' that."
"Well, dammit, look alive. I'm dying for a drink. Bring in a bottle," as she placed a glass before him filled with whisky, "an' tak' the price o' your dam'd poison aff that!" and he flung down a sovereign upon the table.
"Look here," said the landlady, "I'll tak' nane o' your snash, so mind that. If folk come in here to be served, they've got to be ceevil."
"Oh, there's nae harm," he said apologetically, with a forced laugh, "but I'm in a hurry, and I want a drink."