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I now proceeded to build and relight the fire, during which the Scot drew a packet of bread and cheese from his sporran, together with a flask which, having uncorked, he held out to me with the one word, "Whuskey!" "Thank you, Donald, but I rarely drink anything stronger than ale," said I. "Aweel!" said he, "if ye winna', ye winna', an' there's but a wee drappie left, tae be sure."
"Macgilpin, just diagnose this case for me," cried the doctor to his assistant. "What does he smell of?" "Whuskey," replied the assistant-surgeon, a rawboned expert from Edinburgh, who had only recently donned Her Majesty's uniform and brought his north-country accent with him when he came southwards. "There's nae doot aboot that. He smells o' whuskey, and bad whuskey, tae!"
There's naething so good for a man as lettin' him be kind to ye, even if he is an Elder in the kirk. I'm thinkin' Peter's ain o' them that such as that is good for Hester! What ails ye! Are oot of ye're mind? Gi'e her a drap of whuskey, Jean. Hester!"
"Why, no!" she said, answering his question as to whether or no he had not acted a bit foolish the night before. "You just speired me to marry on you. Said I'd been in your eye this thirty years." In a sense this was true. He had cleared from her path like a bolting rabbit, but gallantry forbade that manifest explanation. "'Twas the whuskey talking," he pleaded.
Who, indeed, was able to provide refreshment for the crowd of mourners who would surely assemble on such an occasion, if not Davie, whose "whuskey" was renowned in the whole countryside? Bonar had the good sense to keep from every one the actual date of his intended visit, lest tidings should reach the Forbes. He fixed upon a night when there would be an early rising moon to light him.
Th' dhrink thot done it. Twas a new kind av cocktail. Ye see, I'd jist got back from Melbourne, an' I was takin' in th' lights that noight, aisy like, whin I come t' Toddy's place. I orders a dhrink av whuskey. "'Whist, Pat, says he, 'ye don't want whuskey; 'twill make ye dhrunk. Why don't ye take somethin' green, like th' Irish? "'Green," says I. ''Tis a foine colour.
"Tak' a drap o' whuskey, Jean, ye're flyin' oot o' yer heid. It's the hystiricks she's takin'." "Ah, no! What is it, Aunt Jean? What is it?" cried Hester, eagerly, drawing her to the seat by her side again. "It's no the hystiricks," cried Jean, rocking back and forth and patting her hands on her knees and speaking between laughing and crying.
I must think, I must think." So she lay quietly, gathering all her force to consider and meet what she must, as her way was, while Jean sat beside, stroking her hand and saying sweet, comforting words in her broad Scotch. "There's neathin' so guid as a drap of whuskey, dear, for strengthnin' the hairt whan ye hae a bit shock. It's no yer mon, Peter? No? Weel, thank the Lord for that.
"Nae, nae," she replied, "he used to come in and sit doun wi' his hands in his lap like a bashful country lad; very glum, till he got a drap o' whuskey, or heard a gude story, and then he was aff! He was very poorly in his latter days."
"Yer blinkin' 'igh wif yer wants, ayen't ye? An' yer 'Aig an' 'Aig. I'm a courtin' 'er when," etc., etc. And then a fresh-faced lad chirps up: "T' 'ell wif yer Lonnon an' yer whuskey. Gimme a jug o' cider on the sunny side of a 'ay rick in old Surrey. Gimme a happle tart to go wif it. Gawd, I'm fed up on bully beef." And so it went.
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