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Updated: May 6, 2025
They'd go their bottom dollar and last cartridge if they'd had cartridges in them days on him. That was the regular McHulish gait. And Malcolm there's the last of 'em got the same style of features, too."
Miss Elsie extinguished a sudden smile with her handkerchief as her mother anxiously inquired, "And are the family as poor as that?" "But I am not saying he's POOR, ma'am, no," replied the stranger, with native caution. "What wi' tips and gratooities and percentages on the teekets, it's a bit of money he'll be having in the bank noo." The prophecy of Donald McHulish as to the weather came true.
"Same name, isn't it?" he asked. "Yes," responded Mr. McHulish. "Do you know him?" asked the consul, evidently surprised. "We don't, but he's a friend of one of the Eagle boys. I reckon we would have seen him anyhow; but we'll agree with you to hold on until we do. It's a go. Goodby, old pard! So long."
The vision of the McHulish burned in effigy by his devoted tenants and retainers, and the thought that the prosaic dollars of his countrymen would be substituted for the potent presence of the heir, tickled, it is to be feared, the saturnine humor of the consul.
An elderly guest, who was examining a time-table on the wall, turned to them as the porter disappeared. "Ye'll be strangers noo, and not knowing that Tonalt the porter is a McHulish hissel'?" he said deliberately. "A what?" said the astonished Miss Elsie. "A McHulish. Ay, one of the family. The McHulishes of Kelpie were his own forebears. Eh, but he's a fine lad, and doin' well for the hotel."
Kentigern on her way to Edinburgh, desired to see the consul the next day, if he would appoint an hour at the consulate; or, as her time was limited, she would take it as a great favor if he would call at her hotel. Although a countrywoman, her name might not be so well known to him as those of her "old friends" Harry Custer, Esq., and Sir Malcolm McHulish.
I don't perhaps look like a Scot, we've been settled in England some time, but," he continued with an invincible English drawling deliberation, "I am really you know what they call The McHulish." The rain was dripping monotonously from the scant eaves of the little church of the Sidon Brethren at West Woodlands.
"Well, I spotted you from the first," said Custer, "though I ain't seen you since we were in Scott's Camp together. That's ten years ago. You're lookin' at HIM," he continued, following the consul's wandering eye. "Well, it's about him that I came to see you. This yer's a McHulish a genuine McHulish!" He paused, as if to give effect to this statement.
Kirkby wearily, "but she means well, and for all her flightiness her head's level. And since her father died she runs me," she continued with a slight laugh. After a pause, she added abstractedly, "I suppose she told you of her engagement to young McHulish?" "Yes; but she said she had broken it." Mrs. Kirkby lifted her eyebrows with an expression of relief.
The consul was a little surprised; the use of the title unless it referred to some other McHulish would seem to indicate that Malcolm's claim was successful. He had, however, no previous knowledge of the title of "Sir" in connection with the estate, and it was probable that his fair correspondent like most of her countrywomen was more appreciative than correct in her bestowal of dignities.
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