“Indented?” I repeated; “what does the man mean?”
“Mr. St. Ivy,” said Sim, “this is a maitter entirely between Candlish and me and the auld wife Gilchrist. You had naething to say to it; weel, ye can have naething to do with it, then.”
“My good man,” said I, “I can allow myself to be placed in no such ridiculous position. Mrs. Gilchrist is nothing to me, and I refuse to be her debtor.”
“I dinna exac’ly see what way ye’re gaun to help it,” observed my drover.
“By paying you here and now,” said I.
“There’s aye twa to a bargain, Mr. St. Ivy,” said he.
“You mean that you will not take it?” said I.
“There or thereabout,” said he. “Forbye that it would set ye a heap better to keep your siller for them you awe it to. Ye’re young, Mr. St. Ivy, and thoughtless; but it’s my belief that, wi’ care and circumspection, ye may yet do credit to yoursel’. But just you bear this in mind: that him that awes siller should never gie siller.”
Well, what was there to say? I accepted his rebuke, and, bidding the pair farewell, set off alone upon my southward way.