"Eh, Harry, man," he said, jovially. "Here's the twa o' us, Scots far frae hame. Wull ye no lend me the loan o' a twopence?"
"Aye," I said, and gi'ed it him. "But you a Scot! No fear! A Scot wad ha' asked me for a tanner—and got it, tae!"
He looked very thoughtful as he stared at the two broad coppers I left on his itching palm. He was reflecting, I suppose, on the other fourpence he might ha' had o' me had he asked them! But doubtless he soon spent what he did get in a pub.
There were many times, though, and are still, when puir folk come to me wi' a real tale o' bad luck or misfortune to tell. It's they who deserve it the most are most backward aboot asking for a loan; that I've always found. It's a sair thing to decide against geevin' help; whiles, though, you maun feel that to do as a puir body asks is the worst thing for himsel'.
I mind one strange and terrible thing that came to me. It was in Liverpool, after I'd made my London success—long after. One day, while I was restin' in my dressing room, word was brocht to me that a bit lassie who looked as if she micht be in sair trouble wad ha' a word wi' me. I had her up, and saw that she was a pretty wee creature —no more than eighteen. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes a deep blue, and very large, and she had lovely, curly hair. But it took no verra keen een to see she was in sair trouble indeed. She had been greetin' not sae lang syne, and her een were red and swollen frae her weeping.
"Eh, my, lassie," I said, "can I help ye, then? But I hope you're no in trouble."
"Oh, but I am, Mr. Lauder!" she cried. "I'm in the very greatest trouble. I can't tell you what it is—but—you can help me. It's about your cousin—if you can tell me where I can find him——"
"My cousin, lassie?" I said. "I've no cousin you'd be knowing. None of my cousins live in England—they're all beyond the Tweed."
"But—but—your cousin Henry—who worked here in Liverpool—who always stayed with you at the hotel when you were here?"
Oh, her story was too easy to read! Puir lassie—some scoundrel had deceived her and betrayed her. He'd won her confidence by pretending to be my cousin—why, God knows, nor why that should have made the lassie trust him. I had to break the truth to her, and it was terrible to see her grief.