He cried a hasty greeting to all,
and sat down between a black-bearded giant, whose clothes smelt of
sheep, and a red-haired man from one of the remoter glens. The notion
of the thing pleased him, and he ordered drinks for each with a lavish
carelessness. He asked for a match for his pipe, and the man who gave
it wore a decent melancholy on his face and shook his head with unction.
"This is a bad job, Lewie," he said, using the privileged name of the
ancient servant. "Whae would have ettled sic a calaamity to happen in
your ain countryside? We a' thocht it would be a grand pioy for ye, for
ye would settle down here and hae nae mair foreign stravaigins. And
then this tailor body steps in and spoils a'. It's maist vexaatious."
"It was a good fight, and he beat me fairly; but we'll drop the matter.
I'm sick--tired of politics, Adam. If I had been a better man they
might have made a herd of me, and I should have been happy."
"Wheesht, Lewie," said the man, grinning. "A herd's job is no for the
likes o' you. But there's better wark waiting for ye than poalitics.
It's a beggar's trade after a', and far better left to bagman bodies
like yon Stocks. It's a puir thing for sac proper a man as you."
"But what can I do?" cried Lewis in despair. "I have no profession. I
am useless."
"Useless! Ye are a grand judge o' sheep and nowt, and ye ken a horse
better than ony couper.
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