Here I looked round, and observed Benjie smothering a laugh, which I was sure had mischief in it. I seized him suddenly by the ear, and made him confess that he was laughing at the thoughts of the reception which a fiddler was likely to get from the Quakers at Mount Sharon. I chucked him from me, not sorry that his mirth had reminded me in time of what I had for the moment forgotten; and invited the itinerant to go with me to Shepherd’s Bush, from which I proposed to send word to Mr. Geddes that I should not return home that evening. But the minstrel declined this invitation also. He was engaged for the night, he said, to a dance in the neighbourhood, and vented a round execration on the laziness or drunkenness of his comrade, who had not appeared at the place of rendezvous.
‘I will go with you instead of him,’ said I, in a sudden whim; ‘and I will give you a crown to introduce me as your comrade.’
‘YOU gang instead of Rob the Rambler! My certie, freend, ye are no blate!’ answered Wandering Willie, in a tone which announced death to my frolic.
But Maggie, whom the offer of the crown had not escaped, began to open on that scent with a maundering sort of lecture. ‘Oh Willie! hinny Willie, whan will ye learn to be wise? There’s a crown to be win for naething but saying ae man’s name instead of anither. And, wae’s me! I hae just a shilling of this gentleman’s gieing, and a boddle of my ain; and ye wunna, bend your will sae muckle as to take up the siller that’s flung at your feet! Ye will die the death of a cadger’s powney, in a wreath of drift! and what can I do better than lie doun and die wi’ you? for ye winna let me win siller to keep either you or mysell leevin.’
‘Haud your nonsense tongue, woman,’ said Willie, but less absolutely than before. ‘Is he a real gentleman, or ane of the player-men?’
‘I’se uphaud him a real gentleman,’ said the woman.
‘I’se uphaud ye ken little of the matter,’ said Willie; ‘let us see haud of your hand, neebor, gin ye like.
I gave him my hand. He said to himself, ‘Aye, aye, here are fingers that have seen canny service.’ Then running his hand over my hair, my face, and my dress, he went on with his soliloquy; ‘Aye, aye, muisted hair, braidclaith o’ the best, and seenteen hundred linen on his back, at the least o’ it. And how do you think, my braw birkie, that you are to pass for a tramping fiddler?’
‘My dress is plain,’ said I,—indeed I had chosen my most ordinary suit, out of compliment to my Quaker friends,—‘and I can easily pass for a young farmer out upon a frolic. Come, I will double the crown I promised you.’
‘Damn your crowns!’ said the disinterested man of music. ‘I would like to have a round wi’ you, that’s certain;—but a farmer, and with a hand that never held pleugh-stilt or pettle, that will never do. Ye may pass for a trades-lad from Dumfries, or a student upon the ramble, or the like o’ that. But hark ye, lad; if ye expect to be ranting among the queans o’ lasses where ye are gaun, ye will come by the waur, I can tell ye; for the fishers are wild chaps, and will bide nae taunts.’