There was no reply. “Then keep quiet and dinna cheer till I tell ye, for ‘Burke’s’ a wee roused. I’m no’ as keen o’ a glass as I’ve seen me; I can either tak’ it or want it.” Then taking the glass of whisky in his hand, he said: “Here’s t’ye, Mr. Tait, an’ here’s to the mistress,—baith your very gude healths, an’ may a’ that’s gude befa’ you,” and drained it at a draught.
“Noo,” said he, “come awa’, some mair o’ ye, an’ drink luck to Blackbrae, and after ye’re dune we’ll gi’e them a cheer.”
“FROM LIVELY TO SEVERE.”
Very few answered Dan’s invitation. When no other could be prevailed on to do so, Dan said: “Noo dinna cheer till I grup ‘Burke’ by the collar; the chain micht snap.” He then wound the chain round his arm, stooped down, and held Burke firmly. The dog seemed to be affronted, for he tugged, and strained, and bayed. When Dan got him fairly in hand, he said: “Now, lads, cheer awa’; gi’e our young friends” (here the crowd were unmannerly, and broke out into “Oh-oh-young? ho-ho”) “a real hearty ane.” This was done. Burke joined in the noise if he did not help the melody, and trailed or harled Dan a few yards nearer the crowd. David stepped forward and again thanked them. Another cheer followed, and all were in grand fettle, when a voice (luckily from some unrecognisable throat at the back of the crowd) cried out, “Three cheers for ‘Auld Braidnebs.’”
“What!” said Dan sharply; “wha dared to say that?” and he made for the flail, which he reached with difficulty, as “Burke” seemed determined to face the crowd. Bell saw that Dan was excited, and laid her hand on his shoulder, intending to pacify him.
“For ony favour,” said he nervously, “dinna come near me; abune a’, dinna lay hands on me, or I’ll no’ answer for Burke.”
When he turned round to ask again, “Wha said that?” the close was empty, and the crowd was flying pell-mell homewards—their speed not a little quickened by Watty’s remark that “Burke was sure to break the chain, an’ pity the man that’s hin’most.”
“Dan,” said Bell, “I’ve forgotten a box; ask Jenny Bennet”—Bell’s worthy successor in Mrs. Barrie’s kitchen—“to gie’t. It’s below the kitchen dresser, tied up in broon paper an’ ‘skeenie’ [twine], an’ fetch’t out wi’ ye the morn.”
Dan brought it, and he was so considerately treated, that he actually took dinner in the kitchen, a thing he had seldom done anywhere. David convoyed him through the “close” as he was leaving, and the sow that had vexed him so much attracted Dan’s notice.
“Ye’ll be needin’ me sune, Mr. Tait,” said he, pointing to the sow; “that pig’s ready for killin’.”