Archie had disobeyed them, and Wattie was sure that he had gone, because the risk of meeting Logie was too great to be run. Now was the time for him to speak.
He had no nicety, but he had shrewdness in plenty. He was sudden and persistent in his address, and divining the obstacles in Callandar’s mind, he charged them like a bull.
“Flemington ’ll na let ye get Logie,” said he.
He made his announcement with so much emphasis that the man walking beside him was impressed in spite of his prejudices. He was annoyed too. He turned on him angrily.
“Once and for all, what do you mean by this infernal talk about Mr. Flemington?” he cried, stopping short. “You will either speak out, or I will take it upon myself to make you. I have three men in the wood up yonder who will be very willing to help me. I believe you to be a meddlesome liar, and if I find that I am right you shall smart for it.”
But the beggar needed no urging, and he was not in the least afraid of Callandar.
“It’s no me that’s sweer to speak, it’s yersel’ that’s sweer to listen,” said he, with some truth. “Dod, a’ve tell’t ye afore an’ a’m telling ye again—Flemington ’ll no let ye get him! He’s dancin’ wi’ George, but he’s takin’ the tune frae Chairlie. Heuch! dinna tell me! There’s mony hae done the same afore an’ ’ll dae it yet!”
The officer was standing in the middle of the road, a picture of perplexity.
“It’s no the oxter of him that gars him gang,” said Wattie, breaking into the broad smile of one who is successfully letting the light of reason into another’s mind. “It’s no his airm. Maybe it gies him a pucklie twist, whiles, and maybe it doesna, but it’s no that that gars the like o’ him greet. He wouldna come up Huntly Hill wi’ you, for he ken’t he was ower near Logie. It’s that, an’ nae mair!”