said my uncle. "I
wouldna be muckle made up with that."

"I was thinking that," said Alan.

"And what for why?" asked Ebenezer.

"Why, Mr. Balfour," replied Alan, "by all that I could hear, there were
two ways of it: either ye liked David and would pay to get him back; or
else ye had very good reasons for not wanting him, and would pay for us
to keep him. It seems it's not the first; well then, it's the second;
and blithe am I to ken it, for it should be a pretty penny in my pocket
and the pockets of my friends."

"I dinna follow ye there," said my uncle.

"No?" said Alan. "Well, see here: you dinna want the lad back; well,
what do ye want done with him, and how much will ye pay?"

My uncle made no answer, but shifted uneasily on his seat.

"Come, sir," cried Alan. "I would have ye to ken that I am a gentleman;
I bear a king's name; I am nae rider to kick my shanks at your
hall-door. Either give me an answer in civility, and that out of hand;
or, by the top of Glencoe, I will ram three feet of iron through your
vitals."

"Eh, man," cried my uncle, scrambling to his feet, "give me a meenit!
What's like wrong with ye? I'm just a plain man and nae dancing-master;
and I'm trying to be as ceevil as it's morally possible. As for that
wild talk, it's fair disrepitable. Vitals, says you! And where would I
be with my blunderbush?" he snarled.

"Powder and your auld hands are but as the snail to the swallow against
the bright steel in the hands of Alan," said the other. "Before your
jottering finger could find the trigger, the hilt would dirl on your
breast-bane."

"Eh, man, whae's denying it?" said my uncle. "Pit it as ye please, hae't
your ain way; I'll do naething to cross ye. Just tell me what like ye'll
be wanting, and ye'll see that we'll can agree fine."

"Troth, sir," said Alan, "I ask for nothing but plain dealing. In two
words: do ye want the lad killed or kept?"

"O sirs!" cried Ebenezer. "O sirs me! that's no kind of language!"

"Killed or kept?" repeated Alan.

"O, keepit, keepit!" wailed my uncle. "We'll have nae bloodshed, if you
please."

"Well," says Alan, "as ye please; that'll be the dearer."

"The dearer?" cries Ebenezer. "Would ye fyle your hands wi' crime?"

"Hoot!" said Alan, "they're baith crime, whatever! And the killing's
easier, and quicker, and surer. Keeping the lad'll be a fashious[35]
job, a fashious, kittle business."

"I'll have him keepit, though," returned my uncle. "I nev