Tom Evert left his house earlier than usual the next morning, and went to the mouth of the slope, where he found a number of his friends assembled. They began to congratulate him, and continued to do so until in great bewilderment he exclaimed,
"What's it for, mates? Is it a joke?"
"For thy son, man."
"For my son? which of 'em?"
"Thy crippled lad, Paul, of course. Is the man daft?"
"No; but I think ye must be, to be running on in such a fashion about a lad that's not only a wellnigh helpless cripple, but I'm afeared is going bad ways. 'Twas nearer midnight nor sundown before he came in frae t' street last night, and I sent him to bed wi' a flea in his ear."
A perfect roar of laughter greeted this speech.
"Wellnigh helpless, is he?" cried one. "Well, if he's helpless I'd like to know what you'd name helpful?"
"Going to the bad, is he?"
"Out late o' nights! That's a good one."