“Don’t mean to do it at all. Couldn’t do it to save my life; but I’ll get a clerk to do it for me, a smart young clerk too; you know who I mean.”
“Ay, who’ll it be? I’ll never guess; never guessed a guess in my life.”
“You know my darter Tottie?”
“What, blue-eyed Tottie? oh, yer jokin’!”
“Not a bit. That child’s a parfec’ cooriosity of intelligence. She can write and read most wonderful for her age.”
“But she’ll never be able to do the ham—what d’ye call it?” suggested Haco.
“Of course not; she’s too young for that, but the wife’ll do that. You’ve no notion how powerful hambigoo-ous she is now an’ again. We’ll manage it amongst us. Tottie can write like a parson, my wife can read, though she can’t write, an’ll see that it’s all c’rect, specially the spellin’ an’ the makin’ of it hambigoo-ous; an’ I’ll supply the idees, the notions like, an’ superintend, so to speak, an’ we’ll make little Billy stand by wi’ the blottin’-paper, just to keep him out o’ mischief.”
Haco regarded his friend with deepening admiration. The idea of producing a “hambigoo-ous” letter by such an elaborate family combination, in which each should supply his co-labourer’s deficiency, was quite new and exceedingly interesting to him. Suddenly his countenance became grave, as it occurred to him that there was no call for such a letter at all, seeing that Kenneth Stuart was sure to do his best to induce his father to take care of the child. On observing this to his friend, the latter shook his head.
“I’m not quite sure o’ Mister Kenneth,” said he, “it’s likely that he’ll do the right thing by her, but ‘like father, like son’ is an old proverb. He may be a chip o’ the old block.”
“That he is not,” interrupted Haco warmly. “I know the lad well. He takes after his poor mother, and I’m sartin sure ye may trust him.”