Tam Wylie in a
breath.

"Certainly, it maun be left to the Deacon," assented Johnny Coe, when he
saw how the others were giving their opinion.

"Tho be it, then," snapped the Deacon.

"Here he comes," said Sandy Toddle.

Gourlay came down the street towards them, his chest big, his thumbs in
the armholes of his waistcoat. He had the power of staring steadily at
those whom he approached without the slightest sign of recognition or
intelligence appearing in his eyes. As he marched down upon the bodies
he fixed them with a wide-open glower that was devoid of every
expression but courageous steadiness. It gave a kind of fierce vacancy
to his look.

The Deacon limped forward on his thin shanks to the middle of the road.

"It'th a fine morning, Mr. Gourlay," he simpered.

"There's noathing wrong with the morning," grunted Gourlay, as if there
was something wrong with the Deacon.

"We wath wanting to thee ye on a very important matter, Mithter
Gourlay," lisped the Deacon, smiling up at the big man's face, with his
head on one side, and rubbing his fingers in front of him. "It'th a
matter of the common good, you thee; and we all agreed that we should
speak to _you_, ath the foremost merchant of the town!"

Allardyce meant his compliment to fetch Gourlay. But Gourlay knew his
Allardyce, and was cautious. It was well to be on your guard when the
Deacon was complimentary. When his language was most flowery there was
sure to be a serpent hidden in it somewhere. He would lisp out an
innocent remark and toddle away, and Gourlay would think nothing of the
matter till a week afterwards, perhaps, when something would flash a
light; then "Damn him, did he mean '_that_'?" he would seethe, starting
back and staring at the "_that_" while his fingers strangled the air in
place of the Deacon.

He glowered at the Deacon now till the Deacon blinked.

"You thee, Mr. Gourlay," Allardyce shuffled uneasily, "it'th for your
own benefit just ath much ath ourth. We were thinking of you ath well
ath of ourthelves! Oh yeth, oh yeth!"

"Ay, man!" said Gourlay, "that was kind of ye! I'll be the first man in
Barbie to get ainy benefit from the fools that mismanage our affairs."

The gravel grated beneath the Provost's foot. The atmosphere was
becoming electric, and the Deacon hastened to the point.

"You thee, there'th a fine natural supply of water--a perfect reservore
the Provost sayth--on the brae-face just above _your_ garden, Mr.
Go