"Oh, hang!" ejaculated the Bully.
"Sure, thin, that's for what I'm saving ye!"
"Thar ain't no word profane enough ter describe ye, d'ye see?" Nick told his keeper. "Here, boys, which one of ye kin write?" he called over to his followers.
"Don't make her name common with that gang," cautioned the Dandy, whose alert mind was actively evolving a new piece of villainy as the situation developed. "Ask an older man; a gentleman."
"You've never done a thing ter her name, hev yer?" inquired the Bully, wrathfully, yet not wholly rejecting the advice. "Here, Sandy, man, come write a message for me. You've had schoolin'."
"Ou, aye!" assented the Scotchman, "ower muckle schoolin'. Mon, mon, when I reflect on a' this sma' head contains! I'll e'en gie ye a selection fra' Marmion—or a wee bit o' Rabbit Burruns." Being, however, far gone in conviviality, he maundered off into protestations of undying affection for his leader, assuring him he'd e'en gie his proper copposeetion to see him hangit decently.
Disgusted, Nick shoved Sandy aside, and in so doing caught a glimpse of Durant in his corner, smoking peaceably. "Thar's old man Lucky!" he exclaimed, even as Raish had foreseen. "Might ask him ter help us out. Hi, Lucky! Want ter do me a good turn?"
"Willingly." Rising, Durant joined him. "What is it, Nick?"
"Waal, the government thinks so much of me these days I hev to employ a secretary fer me correspondence, d'ye see? Say, will you write down a message fer me to my gal?"
"With all the pleasure in the world," assented Durant, heartily.