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The little ones, not bigger than a grand piano, were of flesh pink. Those half-grown were mottled with pink and black in blotches. The adults were almost invariably all dark, though a few of them retained still a small pink spot or so-a sort of persistence in mature years of the eternal boy-, I suppose.
"Infamous, I doobt, ye mean," Saunders corrected. Then, glancing uneasily toward the door, he added, "I think as we'd better be leaving." "Pish!" the Devil snorted. "They are undone by their ain malignancy. See it oot." "That's so," Saunders agreed. "That is surely so-a. Hist! The meenister's risen. Man, but he's tickled to death over the result. His face is fair shining."
"Dee-ee-ar me, dee-ee-ar me;" "Just so-a, just so-a;" "Im-phm!" "D'ye tell me that?" "Wonderful, serr, wonderful;" "Ah, well, may-ay-be, may-ay-be" these be words of potent irony when uttered with a certain birr. Long practice had made Gourlay an adept in their use. He never spoke to those he despised or disliked without "the birr."
Hoots, man! a nightmare!" Shuddering, Saunders reconsidered proceedings of ejectment. "But the thing is no posseeble?" "You know your men," the Devil answered. "Close in the mouth as they are in the fist. McCakeron will never get wind o' the business till they spring it on him in meeting." "That is so," Saunders acknowledged. "'Tis surely so-a."
"Ay," John gulped at last from a throat that felt closing. The answer seemed dragged out of him by the insistent silence. "Just so-a!" breathed his father, and his eyes opened in wide flame. He heaved with the great breath he drew.... "Im-phm!" he drawled. He went through to the scullery at the back of the kitchen to wash his hands.
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