“Ah, so you have a woman to clean the place for you at last, Hector!”
“A wumman, d’ye say? Man, she’s no’ an ordinary wumman.... Wull ye hark till her!”
“William Thompson,” cried a sweet, albeit stern voice, “this corner is not even wetted ... scrub it!”
“Rose!” exclaimed Sir John.
“Hersel’!” sighed Sir Hector. “Can ye no reason wi’ her, John, if ’tis only for the sake o’ puir Wully Tamson?”
“Not for worlds, Hector!”
“Then what’ll I dae, Johnnie?”
“Come a-walking.”
“Na, na; I’ve no’ the sperrit, John.”
“But you’ve the legs, Hector.” So saying, Sir John straightened his old friend’s wig, reached him his hat and, taking his arm, led him out into the sunshine.