To be the centre of interest and the object of gracious condescension was balm to the wounded feelings of Gilmour. Gourlay had lowered him, but this reception restored him to his own good opinion. He was usually called "Jock" (except by his mother, to whom, of course, he was "oor Johnny"), but the best merchants in the town were addressing him as "John." It was a great occasion. Gilmour expanded in gossip beneath its influence benign. He welcomed, too, this first and fine opportunity of venting his wrath on the Gourlays. "Oh, I just telled Gourlay what I thocht of him, and took the door ahint me. I let him have it hot and hardy, I can tell ye. He'll no forget _me_ in a hurry"--Gilmour bawled angrily, and nodded his head significantly, and glared fiercely, to show what good cause he had given Gourlay to remember him--"he'll no forget _me_ for a month of Sundays." "Ay, man, John, what did ye say till him?" "Na, man, what did he say to you?" "Wath he angry, Dyohn?" "How did the thing begin?" "Tell us, man, John." "What was it a-all about, John?" "Was Mrs. Gourlay there?" Bewildered by this pelt of questions, Gilmour answered the last that hit his ear. "There, ay; faith, she was there. It was her was the cause o't." "D'ye tell me that, John? Man, you surprise me. I would have thocht the thowless trauchle[3] hadna the smeddum left to interfere." "Oh, it was yon boy of hers. He's aye swaggerin' aboot, interferin' wi' folk at their wark--he follows his faither's example in that, for as the auld cock craws the young ane learns--and his mither's that daft aboot him that ye daurna give a look! He came in my road when I was sweeping out the close, and some o' the dirty jaups splashed about his shins. But was I to blame for that?--ye maun walk wide o' a whalebone besom if ye dinna want to be splashed. Afore I kenned where I was, he up wi' a dirty washing-clout and slashed me in the face wi't! I hit him a thud in the ear--as wha wadna? Out come his mither like a fury, skirling about _her_ hoose, and _her_ servants, and _her_ weans. 'Your servant!' says I--'your servant! You're a nice-looking trollop to talk aboot servants,' says I." "Did ye really, John?" "Man, that wath bauld o' ye." "And what did _she_ say?" "Oh, she just kept skirling! And then, to be sure, Gourlay must come out and interfere! But I telled him to his face what I thocht of _him!_ 'The best Gourlay that ever dirtied leather,' says I, ''s no gaun to make dirt of me,' says I." "Ay, man, Dyohn!" lisped Deacon Allardyce, with bright and eagerly inquiring eyes. "And what did he thay to that na? _That_ wath a dig for him! I'the warrant he wath angry." "Angry? He foamed at the mouth! But I up and says to him, 'I have had enough o' you,' says I, 'you and your Hoose wi' the Green Shutters,' says I. 'You're no fit to have a decent servant,' says I. 'Pay _me my_ wages, and I'll be redd o' ye,' says I. And wi' that I flang my kist on my shouther and slapped the gate ahint me."