He shuffled awkwardly with his cap.
‘He’s ma grandson, an’ it’s a shelt[[1]] he’s after.’
Gilbert was getting a little more familiar with local speech.
‘Do you intend to buy?’ he said to the lad.
Jimmy Stirk brought his eyes back to his immediate surroundings, and looked at the speaker. They were so much lighter than the brown face in which they were set, and their gaze was so direct, that Gilbert was almost startled. It was as though someone had gripped him.
‘Ay, that’s it. He’s to buy,’ broke in Granny. ‘He’s aye wanted this, an’ we’d be the better of twa, for the auld ane’s getting fairly done.’
‘I doubt I’ll no get it yet,’ said the boy.
‘He’s sold near a’ the things he’s got,’ continued Granny, looking at her grandson’s feet, which Gilbert suddenly noticed were bare. ‘A’m fair ashamed to be seen wi’ him.’
‘How much have you got together?’ inquired the young man.
Jimmy opened his hand. There were ten pounds in the palm.