"Well, you'll speak to me at any rate," he said. "I have something to say to you."
And, going into the adjoining parlour, he called for a half-mutchkin. He needed some himself, and he knew the tramp was not an abstainer.
"Tell the woman to come ben," he said, as the man placed the whisky on the table.
"What can you want, Mr. M——, with that old, never-mend vagabond?"
"Perhaps an uncle has left her five hundred pounds," said the writer with a chuckle.
"Gude save us! the creature will go mad," said the man, as he went out, not knowing whether his guest was in humour or earnest.
But, whatever he said to the woman, there she was, presently, white mice and all, seated alongside of the writer, who could make a beggar or a baron at home with him, with equal ease, and in an equally short time.
"You're obliged to me, I think, if I can trust to a pretty long memory," he said, handing her a glass of the spirits.
"Ay; but it doesna need a lang memory to mind gi'en me this," she replied, not wishing any other reason for her obligation.
"And you've forgotten the pirn scrape?"