"Tell me what's the maitter wi' ye, Sal," said James humbly. For the spirit seemed to have departed out of him.
Sal tossed her head and made a sound which, though inarticulate, indicated that much might be said upon that subject. She could and she would.
Slowly Cleaver's boy extracted from his pocket a neat parcel done up in paper.
"Hae, Sal!" he said, going forward to her elbow and offering them to her; "hae, here are some sweeties I fetched ye."
They were her favourite brandy-balls, and on a suitable day, with a light wind and strong sun, their perfume carried a quarter of a mile. James had never known them fail of their effect before. But now, with a swift half-turn, Sal snatched them out of his hand and flung them behind the fire. Cleaver's boy stood aghast. They had cost him fourpence-halfpenny at Tam Luke's shop, and would have cost twice as much but for Tam's good offices in the weighing department.
"What's wrang wi' the brandy-balls, Sal?" he cried in despair. The like of this had never happened before in his experience. Thus Time works out its revenges.
"Did ye get them oot o' an ash-backet?"[4] at last cried Sal, breaking her indignant silence.
"No," said innocent James, "I got them at Tam Luke's for fourpence-halfpenny."
"So ye say!" returned Sal, who was determined not to be appeased.