"Do you mean to tell me, you would have murdered your brother for a skirling, screeching bagpipes?" I asked in horror.
"Och! hardly that, man. Murder is no' a bonny name for it. I would just kind o' quietly have done awa' wi' him. It's maybe a pity my conscience was so keen, for he's no' much good, is Angus; he's a through-other customer: no' steady and law-abidin' like mysel'."
"Well, my friend," I said finally——
"Donald! that's my name."
"Well, Donald, I must be on my way."
"What's a' the hurry, man?"
"Business."
"Oh! weel; give me your hand on it. You've a fine face. The face o' a man that, if he had a dram on him, he would give me a drop o' it."
"That I would, Donald."
"It's a pity. But ye don't happen to have the price o' the dram on ye?"