At the sound o' the terrible words, I banged out o' the house. I never stopped till I came to Dunbar, and there, at the very moment I arrived, I took the coach for Edinburgh; and there I stopped but two days till I set off for London, for my heart was in such a terrible state o' perturbation, that I could have gone to the world's end, ay, and round it, and round it again, if I had had the means, in order that I might have found rest.
It seems that poor Isabella thought that I would come back—and the best-man persuaded her that I would—and she went to dress hersel, and sent for the best-maid. But little did she understand the character she had to deal wi'. I was either a' laziness, or a' desperation. I knew no medium; and I have no doubt that, before she got her hair dressed, and her gown fairly on, I was half-way to Edinburgh—for I flew to Dunbar as though furies had pursued me.
But, sir, the upshot was, that Isabella died a spinster, and I am a bachelor until this day, and will be, until the last day o' my existence; and thus did the four never-aneugh-to-be-detested words—"I canna be fashed"—place eternity, yea, an infinite chasm, between me and the only woman for whose sake I could have laid down my life, as cheaply as though it hadna been worth a sixpence.
Ye may think that the few instances I have related to ye, and their consequences, would have been aneugh to have cured me o' ever making use o' the words again—but ye shall see.
Now, you'll observe that, before the time I'm speaking o', my faither and mother were both dead, as well as two o' their family, so that there were but three o' us left, and we sold the property, and divided the money amongst us in equal shares. Therefore, when I got to London, I was not altogether bare-handed. Now, to my shame, I must confess that I had not been long there, till the remembrance o' Isabella, and the cause that had provoked me to come to desert her, were almost forgotten; for ye must remember that absence makes many changes—and there is many a bonny face in London. So, after I had looked about me for a week or two, I thought to mysel that I saw nobody doing better than the keepers o' wine and spirit vaults. It seemed a' ready-money; it was just nipper after nipper—that is, glass after glass, owre the counter—the money down, and done wi' it. I resolved to become a wine-vault keeper, and I looked around to see where such premises were to let. At length I pitched upon a shop that I thought would suit me exactly, on the north side of Clerkenwell Street, and nearly facing Jerusalem Passage.
There were a very great number o' compositors and pressmen, and bookbinders and gold-beaters, and other trades, in the immediate neighbourhood; and I understood that they were in the habit o' making the vaults which I was about to take their pay-house and house-o'-call. So I took the house, and entered upon the business, and, in a very short time, I thought very little about Isabella, or the grief she had caused me. I hadna long opened the house until the compositors and the pressmen, the bookbinders, gold-beaters, and others, a' came back to it. They were weel-spoken, civil lads. They spent a deal o' money, and I certainly tried to be as civil and obliging to them as I could; and, in short, they called me "a fine chap," and "the best Scotsman out of all sorts they had ever met with."
Weel, in a week or two, some o' them began to get on to my slates—not by name, for I didna like to ask it; it was impudent; and, thought I, oh, it might spoil their custom at ony rate; and I canna be fashed; it would be an awfu trouble writing names upon a slate, especially the names o' so many. But I knew them a' by head-mark, and I thought there was no need for it.
However, one got into my books, and another got into my books; but, no, I am wrong there again, for they only got on to the slates—I couldna be fashed to carry them into the books; I thought there was nae need for it; they generally paid upon the Saturday nicht, and there was nae fear o' me forgettin.
But, in a short time, there never was a Saturday nicht but there was always some o' my debtor customers amissing; and when I inquired for any o' them, the reply was—
"Oh, you're one of his ghosts, are you? well, I wish you may get it—he's got the bag.[8]"