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The row was a' ower in five meenits, when Mester Blair explen'd things; but if he hadna been wi's, I'm dootin' it wudda been a job. There was ane o' the great muckle dosent nowts o' bobbies cam' an' gowpit in my face, an' says, "D'ye think this ane's a woman?" I fand in ahent's for my umberell; but my chappie gaed his wa's gey quick, or I'd gien him the wecht o't across his nose.
This letter was written, and Bayne made it as oleaginous as language permits; and there the matter rested apparently. But, as usual, after the polite came the phonetic. Next week Henry got a letter thus worded: "MISTER LITL, If them grinders of yores dosent send their money i shall com an' fech strings if the devil stans i' t' road. Mr.
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