"A lassie that has nae faither or mither," said Cleg—"worth speakin' aboot," he added as an afterthought.
"We are full up," said Donald Iverach, balancing himself upon one leg of his stool. For his father was old-fashioned, and despised the luxury of stuffed chairs as not in keeping with a sound, old-fashioned conservative business.
Cleg looked disappointed.
"It wad be an awsome graund thing for the lassie if she could get a job here," said Cleg sadly.
"Another time," replied the junior partner, turning to his desk. To him the case and application were as fifty more. He only wished the manager had been at hand to refer the case to. Donald was like most of his kindly fellow-creatures. He liked to have his nasty jobs done by deputy. Which is one reason why the law is a lucrative profession.
Cleg was at the door, his head sunk so low that it was nearly between his feet. But at the very out-going, with the great brass handle in his fingers, he tried once more.
"Aweel," he said, without taking his eyes off the brown matting on the floor, "I'll e'en hae to gang and tell Miss Tennant aboot it. She wull be desperate vexed!"
The junior partner swung round on his stool and called, "Hey! boy, stop!"
But Cleg was already outside.