“I ken fine that,” said her husband, “but I’ll bate ye would put the buttons on the wrang side, the way ye did wi’ yon waistcoat. It’s a droll thing aboot weemen’s claes that they aye hae their buttons on caurey-handed. It jist lets ye see their contrariness.”
“Oh! it’s a peety ye mairried me,” said Jinnet; “a contrairy wife must be an awfu’ handfu’.”
“Weel, so ye are contrairy,” said Erchie firmly.
“It tak’s twa to be contrairy, jist the same wye as it tak’s twa to mak’ a quarrel,” said Jinnet, picking some fluff off his sleeve. “Whit wye am I contrairy I would like to ken?”
“If ye werena contrairy, ye would be thinkin’ o’ buyin’ something for yersel’ instead o’ a topcoat for me, and ye’re far mair needn’t,” said Erchie, and with that a knock came to the door.
“There’s somebody,” said Jinnet hastily, “put on the kettle.”
“Come awa’ in, Mr Duffy, and you, Mrs Duffy,” said Jinnet; “we’re rale gled to see ye, Erchie and me. I was jist puttin’ on the kettle to mak’ a drap tea.”
Duffy and his wife came into the cosy light and warmth of the kitchen, and sat down. There was an elation in the coalman’s eye that could not be concealed.
“My jove! I’ve news for ye the nicht,” said he, taking out his pipe and lighting it.
“If it’s that the bag o’ coals is up anither bawbee,” said Erchie, “there’s nae hurry for’t. It’s no’ awfu’ new news that onywye.”