Guy Mannering [139]
either side.
Mannering had not much time to look and to admire. His conductor hurried him across this striking scene, and suddenly dived with him into a very steep paved lane. Turning to the right, they entered a scale-staircase, as it is called, the state of which, so far as it could be judged of by one of his senses, annoyed Mannering's delicacy not a little. When they had ascended cautiously to a considerable height, they heard a heavy rap at a door, still two stories above them. The door opened, and immediately ensued the sharp and worrying bark of a dog, the squalling of a woman, the screams of an assaulted cat, and the hoarse voice of a man, who cried in a most imperative tone, Will ye, Mustard? will ye?--down, sir! down!"
"Lord preserve us!" said the female voice, "an he had worried our cat, Mr. Pleydell would ne'er hae forgi'en me!"
"Aweel, my doo, [*dove ] the cat's no a prin the waur--so he's no in, ye say?"
"Na, Mr. Pleydell's ne'er in the house on Saturday at e'en," answered the female voice.
"And the morn's Sabbath too," said the querist "I dinna ken what will be done."
By this time Mannering appeared, and found a tall strong countryman, clad in a coat of pepper-and-salt coloured mixture, with huge metal buttons, a glazed hat and boots, and a large horsewhip beneath his arm, in colloquy with a slipshod damsel--I, who had in one hand the lock of the door, and in the other a pail of whiting, or camstane, as it is called, mixed with water--a circumstance which indicates Saturday night in Edinburgh.
"So Mr. Pleydell is not at home, my good girl?" said Mannering.
"Ay, sir, he's at hame, but he's no in the house: he's aye out on Saturday at e'en."
"But, try good girl, I am a stranger, and my business express--Will you tell me where I can find him?"
"His honour," said the chairman, "will be at Clerihugh's about this time--Hersell could hae tell'd ye that, but she thought ye wanted to see his house."
"Well, then, show me to this tavern--I suppose he will see me, as I come on business of some consequence?"
"I dinna ken, sir," said the girl; "he disna like to be disturbed on Saturdays wi' business--but he's aye civil to strangers."
"I'll gang to the tavern too," said our friend Dinmont, "for I am a stranger also, and on business e'en sic like."
"Na," said the handmaiden, "an he see the gentleman, he'll see the simple body too--but, Lord's sake, dinna say it was me sent ye there!"
"Atweel, I am a simple body, that's true, hinny, but I am no come to steal ony o' his skeel for naething," said the farmer in his honest pride, and strutted away downstairs, followed by Mannering and the cadie. Mannering could not help admiring the determined stride with which the stranger who preceded them divided the press, shouldering from him, by the mere weight and impetus of his motion, both drunk and sober passengers. "He'll be a Teviotdale tup tat ane," said the chairman, "tat's for keeping ta crown o' ta causeway tat gate--he'll no gang far or he'll get somebody to bell ta cat wi' him."
His shrewd augury, however, was not fulfilled. Those who recoiled from the colossal weight of Dinmont, on looking up at his size and strength, apparently judged him too heavy metal to be rashly encountered, and suffered him to pursue his course unchallenged. Following in the wake of this first-rate, Mannering proceeded till the farmer made a pause, and, looking back to the chairman, said, "I'm thinking this will be the close, friend?"
"Ay, ay," replied Donald, "tat's ta close."
Dinmont descended confidently, then turned into a dark alley-- then up a dark stair--and then into an open door. While he was whistling shrilly for the waiter, as if he had been one of his collie dogs, Mannering looked round him, and could hardly conceive how a gentleman of a liberal profession, and good society, should choose such a scene for social indulgence. Besides the miserable entrance, the house itself seemed paltry and half ruinous. The passage in which they stood had a window to the close, which admitted a little light
Mannering had not much time to look and to admire. His conductor hurried him across this striking scene, and suddenly dived with him into a very steep paved lane. Turning to the right, they entered a scale-staircase, as it is called, the state of which, so far as it could be judged of by one of his senses, annoyed Mannering's delicacy not a little. When they had ascended cautiously to a considerable height, they heard a heavy rap at a door, still two stories above them. The door opened, and immediately ensued the sharp and worrying bark of a dog, the squalling of a woman, the screams of an assaulted cat, and the hoarse voice of a man, who cried in a most imperative tone, Will ye, Mustard? will ye?--down, sir! down!"
"Lord preserve us!" said the female voice, "an he had worried our cat, Mr. Pleydell would ne'er hae forgi'en me!"
"Aweel, my doo, [*dove ] the cat's no a prin the waur--so he's no in, ye say?"
"Na, Mr. Pleydell's ne'er in the house on Saturday at e'en," answered the female voice.
"And the morn's Sabbath too," said the querist "I dinna ken what will be done."
By this time Mannering appeared, and found a tall strong countryman, clad in a coat of pepper-and-salt coloured mixture, with huge metal buttons, a glazed hat and boots, and a large horsewhip beneath his arm, in colloquy with a slipshod damsel--I, who had in one hand the lock of the door, and in the other a pail of whiting, or camstane, as it is called, mixed with water--a circumstance which indicates Saturday night in Edinburgh.
"So Mr. Pleydell is not at home, my good girl?" said Mannering.
"Ay, sir, he's at hame, but he's no in the house: he's aye out on Saturday at e'en."
"But, try good girl, I am a stranger, and my business express--Will you tell me where I can find him?"
"His honour," said the chairman, "will be at Clerihugh's about this time--Hersell could hae tell'd ye that, but she thought ye wanted to see his house."
"Well, then, show me to this tavern--I suppose he will see me, as I come on business of some consequence?"
"I dinna ken, sir," said the girl; "he disna like to be disturbed on Saturdays wi' business--but he's aye civil to strangers."
"I'll gang to the tavern too," said our friend Dinmont, "for I am a stranger also, and on business e'en sic like."
"Na," said the handmaiden, "an he see the gentleman, he'll see the simple body too--but, Lord's sake, dinna say it was me sent ye there!"
"Atweel, I am a simple body, that's true, hinny, but I am no come to steal ony o' his skeel for naething," said the farmer in his honest pride, and strutted away downstairs, followed by Mannering and the cadie. Mannering could not help admiring the determined stride with which the stranger who preceded them divided the press, shouldering from him, by the mere weight and impetus of his motion, both drunk and sober passengers. "He'll be a Teviotdale tup tat ane," said the chairman, "tat's for keeping ta crown o' ta causeway tat gate--he'll no gang far or he'll get somebody to bell ta cat wi' him."
His shrewd augury, however, was not fulfilled. Those who recoiled from the colossal weight of Dinmont, on looking up at his size and strength, apparently judged him too heavy metal to be rashly encountered, and suffered him to pursue his course unchallenged. Following in the wake of this first-rate, Mannering proceeded till the farmer made a pause, and, looking back to the chairman, said, "I'm thinking this will be the close, friend?"
"Ay, ay," replied Donald, "tat's ta close."
Dinmont descended confidently, then turned into a dark alley-- then up a dark stair--and then into an open door. While he was whistling shrilly for the waiter, as if he had been one of his collie dogs, Mannering looked round him, and could hardly conceive how a gentleman of a liberal profession, and good society, should choose such a scene for social indulgence. Besides the miserable entrance, the house itself seemed paltry and half ruinous. The passage in which they stood had a window to the close, which admitted a little light