‘WAS I a burgess!’ said Peter indignantly, ‘and AM I not a burgess even now? I have done nothing to forfeit my right, I trow—once provost and ay my lord.’
‘Well, Mr. Burgess, tell me further, have you not some property in the Gude Town?’ continued Ewart.
‘Troth have I—that is, before my misfortunes, I had twa or three bonny bits of mailings amang the closes and wynds, forby the shop and the story abune it. But Plainstanes has put me to the causeway now. Never mind though, I will be upsides with him yet.’
‘Had not you once a tenement in the Covenant Close?’ again demanded Nanty.
‘You have hit it, lad, though ye look not like a Covenanter,’ said Peter; ‘we’ll drink to its memory—(Hout! the heart’s at the mouth o’ that ill-faur’d bit stoup already!)—it brought a rent, reckoning from the crawstep to the groundsill, that ye might ca’ fourteen punds a year, forby the laigh cellar that was let to Lucky Littleworth.’
‘And do you not remember that you had a poor old lady for your tenant, Mrs. Cantrips of Kittlebasket?’ said Nanty, suppressing his emotion with difficulty.
‘Remember! G—d, I have gude cause to remember her,’ said Peter, ‘for she turned a dyvour on my hands, the auld besom! and after a’ that the law could do to make me satisfied and paid, in the way of poinding and distrenzieing and sae forth, as the law will, she ran awa to the charity workhouse, a matter of twenty punds Scots in my debt—it’s a great shame and oppression that charity workhouse, taking in bankrupt dyvours that canna, pay their honest creditors.’
‘Methinks, friend,’ said the Quaker, ‘thine own rags might teach thee compassion for other people’s nakedness.’
‘Rags!’ said Peter, taking Joshua’s words literally; ‘does ony wise body put on their best coat when they are travelling, and keeping company with Quakers, and such other cattle as the road affords?’
‘The old lady DIED, I have heard,’ said Nanty, affecting a moderation which was belied by accents that faltered with passion.