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I'm thinking I'll just come and cuik till ye a wee for auld lang syne thretty schelln the day an' ye'll buy the flesh o' me. I'll sell it a hantle cheaper than thir warldly-minded fleshers." Bref, he came to be shorn, and remained to fleece. He went and told George what he had done. "Hech! hech!" whined he, "thir's a maist awfu' come doon for the McLaughlans -but wha wadna' stuip to lift gowd?"
And Mistress MacAlister, painfully intoxicated at the dinner hour of 2 p.m., and the uncooked leg of young pork in the larder. 'D'ye thenk ah'm goin' to cuik till ye on the Sabba' Day? Ye'll no be findin' th' irreligious sort o' betches that'll do that for ye in Dundee, ah'm thenkin'.
"Our party is large; we want a cook for it, and we offer you the place in return for past kindness." "Me a cuik, y' impudent vagabond!" cried the Caledonian, red as a turkey-cock; and, if a look could have crushed a party of eight, their hole had been their grave.
McLaughlan took seven ireful steps wide ones then his hot anger assumed a cold, sardonic form, he returned, and with blighting satire speered this question by way of gratifying an ironical curiosity. "An' whaat would ye ha'e the cheek t'offer a McLanghlan to cuik till ye, you that kens sae fine the price o' wark?" "Thirty shillings." "Thretty shilling the week for a McLaughlan!"
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