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There was a touch of Irish in it, a spice of music-hall patter, as well as the odd lilt of the Glasgow vernacular. He was strong in vowels, but the consonants, especially the letter "t," were only aspirations. "Sit down and let's hear about things," said Dickson. The boy turned his head to the still open back door, where Mrs. Morran could be heard at her labours. He stepped across and shut it.
It was the lame man whom Dougal had called Spittal, the dweller in the South Lodge. Seen at closer quarters he was an odd-looking being, lean as a heron, wry-necked, but amazingly quick on his feet. Had not Mrs. Morran said that he hobbled as fast as other folk ran?
The gale was so fierce, now that they had no wind-break between them and the ocean, that Mrs. Morran could wrestle with it no longer, and found shelter in the lee of a clump of rhododendrons. Darkness had all but fallen, and the House was a black shadow against the dusky sky, while a confused greyness marked the sea.
There was a knock at the cottage door, and presently Mrs. Morran appeared. "It's the man frae the inn," she announced. "He's wantin' a word wi' ye. Speakin' verra ceevil, too." "Tell him to come up," said Dickson. He might as well get the interview over. Dobson had seen Loudon and must know of their conversation.
He ordered a great hamper of foodstuffs the most delicate kind of tinned goods, two perfect hams, tongues, Strassburg pies, chocolate, cakes, biscuits, and, as a last thought, half a dozen bottles of old liqueur brandy. It was to be carefully packed, addressed to Mrs. Morran, Dalquharter Station, and delivered in time for him to take down by the 7.33 train.
And puir man, ye've been sair mishandled. This is the awfu'est Sabbath day that ever you and me pit in. I hope it'll be forgiven us.... Whaur's the young leddy?" "Dougal was saying she was in the House with Sir Archibald and the men from the Mains." "Wae's me!" Mrs. Morran keened. "And what kind o' place is yon for her? Thae laddies tell me there's boatfu's o' scoondrels landit at the Garplefit.
McCunn inquired concerning the inn. "There's new folk just came. What's this they ca' them? Robson Dobson aye, Dobson. What far wad they no' tak' ye in? Does the man think he's a laird to refuse folk that gait?" "He said he had illness in the house." Mrs. Morran meditated. "Whae in the world can be lyin' there? The man bides his lane.
If you don't, the tinklers will come back and you'll no' beat them in the daylight." "I doubt no'," said Dougal. "But what about our meat?" "We must lay in provisions. We'll get what we can from Mrs. Morran, and I've left a big box of fancy things at Dalquharter station. Can you laddies manage to get it down here?" Dougal reflected. "Ay, we can hire Mrs.
Dickson's ears were alert for the noise of shots or the dull crash of bombs; hearing nothing, he feared the worst, and hurried Mrs. Morran at a pace which endangered her life. He had no fear for himself, arguing that his foes were seeking higher game, and judging, too, that the main battle must be round the verandah at the other end.
Besides, they'll maybe suspect less if they just see a decent body out for a breath of air with his auntie." Mrs. Morran said nothing, but retired, and returned presently equipped for the road. She had indued her feet with goloshes and pinned up her skirts till they looked like some demented Paris mode.
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