"For postage."
"To the devil wid you! Didn't I see you give Mr. Durfy a letther for fourpence this minit, and a bigger letther than this? and now you want me to pay elevenpence for this scrap of a thing. Do you think I'm a fool?"
"No: but I'm sure of it," said the postmaster.
"Well you're welkum to be sure, sure;—but don't be delayin' me now: here's fourpence for you, and gi' me the letther."
"Go along, you stupid thief!" said the postmaster, taking up the letter, and going to serve a customer with a mouse-trap.
While this person, and many others were served, Andy lounged up and down the shop, every now and then putting in his head in the middle of the customers, and saying, "Will you gi' me the letther?"
He waited for above half an hour, in defiance of the anathemas of the postmaster, and at last left, when he found it impossible to get common justice for his master, which he thought he deserved as well as another man; for, under this impression, Andy determined to give no more than the fourpence.
The squire in the meantime was getting impatient for his return, and when Andy made his appearance, asked if there was a letter for him.
"There is, sir," said Andy.
"Then give it to me."