"Oh--oh, but think of the convenience to uth--eh--eh--I mean to the common good," said Allardyce. "I howked wells for myself," snapped Gourlay. "Let others do the like." "Oh, but we haven't all the enterprithe of you, Mr. Gourlay. You'll surely accommodate the town!" "I'll see the town damned first," said Gourlay, and passed on his steady way. FOOTNOTES: [3] _Trauchle_, a poor trollop who trails about; _smeddum_, grit. CHAPTER VI. The bodies watched Gourlay in silence until he was out of earshot. Then, "It's monstrous!" the Provost broke out in solemn anger; "I declare it's perfectly monstrous! But I believe we could get Pow-ers to compel him. Yass; I believe we could get Pow-ers. I do believe we could get Pow-ers." The Provost was fond of talking about "Pow-ers," because it implied that he was intimate with the great authorities who might delegate such "Pow-ers" to him. To talk of "Pow-ers," mysteriously, was a tribute to his own importance. He rolled the word on his tongue as if he enjoyed the sound of it. On the Deacon's cheek bones two red spots flamed, round and big as a Scotch penny. His was the hurt silence of the baffled diplomatist, to whom a defeat means reflections on his own ability. "Demn him!" he skirled, following the solid march of his enemy with fiery eyes. Never before had his deaconship been heard to swear. Tam Wylie laughed at the shrill oath till his eyes were buried in his merry wrinkles, a suppressed snirt, a continuous gurgle in the throat and nose, in beaming survey the while of the withered old creature dancing in his rage. (It was all a good joke to Tam, because, living on the outskirts of the town, he had no spigot of his own to feed.) The Deacon turned the eyes of hate on him. Demn Wylie too--what was he laughing at! "Oh, I dare thay you could have got round him!" he snapped. "In my opinion, Allardyce," said the baker, "you mismanaged the whole affair. Yon wasna the way to approach him!" "It'th a pity you didna try your hand, then, I'm sure! No doubt a clever man like _you_ would have worked wonderth!" So the bodies wrangled among themselves. Somehow or other Gourlay had the knack of setting them by the ears. It was not till they hit on a common topic of their spite in railing at him that they became a band of brothers and a happy few. "Whisht!" said Sandy Toddle suddenly; "here's his boy!" John was coming towards them on his way to school. The bodies watched him as he passed, with the fixed look men turn on a boy of whose kinsmen they were talking even now. They affect a stony and deliberate regard, partly to include the newcomer in their critical survey of his family, and partly to banish from their own eyes any sign that they have just been running down his people. John, as quick as his mother to feel, knew in a moment they were watching _him_. He hung his head sheepishly and blushed, and the moment he was past he broke into a nervous trot, the bag of books bumping on his back as he ran.