"Why! Donald,--what's the trouble?" I asked. "Trouble,--ye may well say trouble. Have ye mind o' the sixpence ye gied me on the roadside this mornin'." "Yes!" "For thirteen long, unlucky hours I saved that six-pence against my time o' need. I tied it in the tail o' my sark for safety. I came in here an hour ago. I ordered a glass o' whisky and a tumbler o' beer. I sat doon here for a while wi' them both before me, enjoying the sight o' them and indulgin' in the heavenly joy o' anteecipation. Then I drank the speerits and was just settlin' doon to the beer,--tryin' to make it spin oot as long as I could; for, ye ken, it's comfortable in here,--when an emissary o' the deevil, wi' hands like shovels and a leer in his e'e, came in and picked up the tumbler frae under my very nose and swallowed the balance o' your six-pence before I could say squeak." I laughed at Donald's rueful countenance and his more than rueful tale. "Did the man have a broken nose and a heavy jaw?" I asked. "Ay, ay!" said Donald, lowering his voice. "Do ye happen to ken him?" "No!--but he is still out there and he thinks it a fine joke that he played on you." "So would I," said Donald, "if I had drunk his beer." "What did you do when he swallowed off your drink?" I asked. "Do!--what do ye think I did? I remonstrated wi' a' the vehemence that a Struan Robertson in anger is capable o'. But the vehemence o' the Lord himsel' couldna bring the beer back." "Why didn't you fight, man? Why didn't you knock the bully down?" I asked, pitying his wobegone appearance. "Mister,--whatever your name is,--I'm a man o' peace; and, forby I'm auld enough to ken it's no' wise to fight on an empty stomach. I havena had a bite since I saw ye last." "Never mind, Donald,--cheer up. I am going to have some bread and cheese, and a glass of ale, so you can have some with me, at my expense." His face lit up like a Roman candle. "Man,--I'm wi' ye. You're a man o' substance, and I'm fonder o' substantial bread and cheese and beer than I am o' the metapheesical drinks I was indulgin' in for ten minutes before ye so providentially came." I could not help wondering at some of the remarks of this wise, yet good-for-little, old customer; but I did not press him for more enlightenment. I thumped the hand-bell on the table, and was successful in obtaining more prompt attention from the bar-tender than I had been able to do across the counter. When the food and drink were placed between us and paid for, Donald stuffed all but one slice of his bread and cheese inside his waistcoat, and he sighed contentedly as he contemplated the sparkling ale. But, all at once, he startled me by springing to his feet, seizing his tumbler in his hand and emptying the contents down his gullet at two monstrous gulps. "No, no!--ye thievin' deevil," he shouted, as he regained his breath, "ye canna do that twice wi' Donald Robertson."