Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Kidnapping -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
With this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmly
settled in my head, I now began to imitate his covert looks; so that
we sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily observing the
other. Not another word had he to say to me, black or white, but was
busy turning something secretly over in his mind; and the longer we
sat and the more I looked at him, the more certain I became that the
something was unfriendly to myself.
When he had cleared the platter, he got out a single pipeful of tobacco,
just as in the morning, turned round a stool into the chimney corner,
and sat awhile smoking, with his back to me.
“Davie,” he said, at length, “I’ve been thinking;” then he paused, and
said it again. “There’s a wee bit siller that I half promised ye before
ye were born,” he continued; “promised it to your father. O, naething
legal, ye understand; just gentlemen daffing at their wine. Well, I
keepit that bit money separate--it was a great expense, but a promise
is a promise--and it has grown by now to be a matter of just
precisely--just exactly”--and here he paused and stumbled--“of just
exactly forty pounds!” This last he rapped out with a sidelong glance
over his shoulder; and the next moment added, almost with a scream,
“Scots!”
The pound Scots being the same thing as an English shilling, the
difference made by this second thought was considerable; I could see,
besides, that the whole story was a lie, invented with some end which
it puzzled me to guess; and I made no attempt to conceal the tone of
raillery in which I answered--
“O, think again, sir! Pounds sterling, I believe!”
“That’s what I said,” returned my uncle: “pounds sterling! And if you’ll
step out-by to the door a minute, just to see what kind of a night it
is, I’ll get it out to ye and call ye in again.”
I did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think I
was so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night, with a few stars low
down; and as I stood just outside the door, I heard a hollow moaning
of wind far off among the hills. I said to myself there was something
thundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what a vast
importance that should prove to me before the evening passed.
When I was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand seven and
thirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand, in small gold and
silver; but his heart failed him there, and he crammed the change into
his pocket.
“There,” said he, “that’ll show you! I’m a queer man, and strange wi’
strangers; but my word is my bond, and there’s the proof of it.”
Now, my uncle seemed so miserly that I was struck dumb by this sudden
generosity, and could find no words in which to thank him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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