‘I’m thinking Faa’s unco bad,’ said the one.
‘Ay,’ said the other, ‘he lookit dooms gash.’
‘He did that,’ said the first.
And their weary silence fell upon them again.
Presently Sim turned to me. ‘Ye’re unco ready with the stick,’ said he.
‘Too ready, I’m afraid,’ said I. ‘I am afraid Mr. Faa (if that be his name) has got his gruel.’
‘Weel, I wouldnae wonder,’ replied Sim.
‘And what is likely to happen?’ I inquired.
‘Aweel,’ said Sim, snuffing profoundly, ‘if I were to offer an opeenion, it would not be conscientious. For the plain fac’ is, Mr. St. Ivy, that I div not ken. We have had crackit heids—and rowth of them—ere now; and we have had a broken leg or maybe twa; and the like of that we drover bodies make a kind of a practice like to keep among oursel’s. But a corp we have none of us ever had to deal with, and I could set nae leemit to what Gillies micht consider proper in the affair. Forbye that, he would be in raither a hobble himsel’, if he was to gang hame wantin’ Faa. Folk are awfu’ throng with their questions, and parteecularly when they’re no wantit.’
‘That’s a fac’,’ said Candlish.