‘He’s terrible like a monkey.’
‘An’ a’m fell feared he’ll no grow. What auld are ye, mun?’ continued the other, raising his voice to a shout.
‘Hech! he winna speak!’
‘He’ll no be bigger nor Jockie Thompson. Come awa here, Jockie, an’ let’s see!’
A small boy was hauled out from the crowd and pushed forward.
‘Just stand you aside him an’ put your heedie up the same prood way he does.’
The urchin stepped down off the pavement, and standing as near the victim as he dared, began to inflate himself and to pull such faces as he conceived suitable. As mimicry they had no merit, but as insult they were simply beyond belief.
A yell of approval arose.
The groom was beginning to meditate a dive at the whip-socket when the solid shape of Jockie Thompson’s father appeared in the distance. His son, who had eluded him before kirk and who still wore his Sunday clothes, sprang back to the pavement, and was instantly swallowed up by the group.