Redgauntlet [165]
house, Robie, so near the honourable Sabbath; and I must mind you that it is contravening the terms of your tack, whilk stipulates that you should shut your public on Saturday at nine o'clock, at latest.'
'Yes, sir,' said Robin Hastie, no way alarmed at the gravity of the rebuke, 'but you must take tent that I have admitted naebody but you, Mr. Trumbull (who by the way admitted yoursell), since nine o'clock for the most of the folk have been here for several hours about the lading, and so on, of the brig. It is not full tide yet, and I cannot put the men out into the street. If I did, they would go to some other public, and their souls would be nane the better, and my purse muckle the waur; for how am I to pay the rent if I do not sell the liquor?'
'Nay, then,' said Thomas Trumbull, 'if it is a work of necessity, and in the honest independent way of business, no doubt there is balm in Gilead. But prithee, Robin, wilt thou see if Nanty Ewart be, as is most likely, amongst these unhappy topers; and if so, let him step this way cannily, and speak to me and this young gentleman. And it's dry talking, Robin--you must minister to us a bowl of punch--ye ken my gage,'
'From a mutchkin to a gallon, I ken your honour's taste, Mr. Thomas Trumbull,' said mine host; 'and ye shall hang me over the signpost if there be a drap mair lemon or a curn less sugar than just suits you. There are three of you--you will be for the auld Scots peremptory pint-stoup for the success of the voyage?' [The Scottish pint of liquid measure comprehends four English measures of the same denomination. The jest is well known of my poor countryman, who, driven to extremity by the raillery of the Southern, on the small denomination of the Scottish coin, at length answered, 'Aye, aye! But the deil tak them that has the LEAST PINT-STOUP.']
'Better pray for it than drink for it, Robin,' said Mr. Trumbull. 'Yours is a dangerous trade, Robin; it hurts mony a ane--baith host and guest. But ye will get the blue bowl, Robin--the blue bowl--that will sloken all their drouth, and prevent the sinful repetition of whipping for an eke of a Saturday at e'en. Aye, Robin, it is a pity of Nanty Ewart--Nanty likes the turning up of his little finger unco weel, and we maunna stint him, Robin, so as we leave him sense to steer by.'
'Nanty Ewart could steer through the Pentland Firth though he were as drunk as the Baltic Ocean,' said Robin Hastie; and instantly tripping downstairs, he speedily returned with the materials for what he called his BROWST, which consisted of two English quarts of spirits, in a huge blue bowl, with all the ingredients for punch in the same formidable proportion. At the same time he introduced Mr. Antony or Nanty Ewart, whose person, although he was a good deal flustered with liquor, was different from what Fairford expected. His dress was what is emphatically termed the shabby genteel--a frock with tarnished lace--a small cocked hat, ornamented in a similar way--a scarlet waistcoat, with faded embroidery, breeches of the same, with silver knee- bands, and he wore a smart hanger and a pair of pistols in a sullied swordbelt.
'Here I come, patron,' he said, shaking hands with Mr. Trumbull. 'Well, I see you have got some grog aboard.'
'It is not my custom, Mr. Ewart,' said the old gentleman, 'as you well know, to become a chamberer or carouser thus late on Saturday at e'en; but I wanted to recommend to your attention a young friend of ours, that is going upon a something particular journey, with a letter to our friend the Laird from Pate-in- Peril, as they call him.'
'Aye--indeed?--he must be in high trust for so young a gentleman. I wish you joy, sir,' bowing to Fairford. 'By'r lady, as Shakespeare says, you are bringing up a neck for a fair end. Come, patron, we will drink to Mr. What-shall-call-um. What is his name? Did you tell me? And have I forgot it already.'
'Mr. Alan Fairford,' said Trumbull.
'Aye, Mr. Alan Fairford--a good name for a fair trader--Mr. Alan Fairford; and may he be long withheld from the
'Yes, sir,' said Robin Hastie, no way alarmed at the gravity of the rebuke, 'but you must take tent that I have admitted naebody but you, Mr. Trumbull (who by the way admitted yoursell), since nine o'clock for the most of the folk have been here for several hours about the lading, and so on, of the brig. It is not full tide yet, and I cannot put the men out into the street. If I did, they would go to some other public, and their souls would be nane the better, and my purse muckle the waur; for how am I to pay the rent if I do not sell the liquor?'
'Nay, then,' said Thomas Trumbull, 'if it is a work of necessity, and in the honest independent way of business, no doubt there is balm in Gilead. But prithee, Robin, wilt thou see if Nanty Ewart be, as is most likely, amongst these unhappy topers; and if so, let him step this way cannily, and speak to me and this young gentleman. And it's dry talking, Robin--you must minister to us a bowl of punch--ye ken my gage,'
'From a mutchkin to a gallon, I ken your honour's taste, Mr. Thomas Trumbull,' said mine host; 'and ye shall hang me over the signpost if there be a drap mair lemon or a curn less sugar than just suits you. There are three of you--you will be for the auld Scots peremptory pint-stoup for the success of the voyage?' [The Scottish pint of liquid measure comprehends four English measures of the same denomination. The jest is well known of my poor countryman, who, driven to extremity by the raillery of the Southern, on the small denomination of the Scottish coin, at length answered, 'Aye, aye! But the deil tak them that has the LEAST PINT-STOUP.']
'Better pray for it than drink for it, Robin,' said Mr. Trumbull. 'Yours is a dangerous trade, Robin; it hurts mony a ane--baith host and guest. But ye will get the blue bowl, Robin--the blue bowl--that will sloken all their drouth, and prevent the sinful repetition of whipping for an eke of a Saturday at e'en. Aye, Robin, it is a pity of Nanty Ewart--Nanty likes the turning up of his little finger unco weel, and we maunna stint him, Robin, so as we leave him sense to steer by.'
'Nanty Ewart could steer through the Pentland Firth though he were as drunk as the Baltic Ocean,' said Robin Hastie; and instantly tripping downstairs, he speedily returned with the materials for what he called his BROWST, which consisted of two English quarts of spirits, in a huge blue bowl, with all the ingredients for punch in the same formidable proportion. At the same time he introduced Mr. Antony or Nanty Ewart, whose person, although he was a good deal flustered with liquor, was different from what Fairford expected. His dress was what is emphatically termed the shabby genteel--a frock with tarnished lace--a small cocked hat, ornamented in a similar way--a scarlet waistcoat, with faded embroidery, breeches of the same, with silver knee- bands, and he wore a smart hanger and a pair of pistols in a sullied swordbelt.
'Here I come, patron,' he said, shaking hands with Mr. Trumbull. 'Well, I see you have got some grog aboard.'
'It is not my custom, Mr. Ewart,' said the old gentleman, 'as you well know, to become a chamberer or carouser thus late on Saturday at e'en; but I wanted to recommend to your attention a young friend of ours, that is going upon a something particular journey, with a letter to our friend the Laird from Pate-in- Peril, as they call him.'
'Aye--indeed?--he must be in high trust for so young a gentleman. I wish you joy, sir,' bowing to Fairford. 'By'r lady, as Shakespeare says, you are bringing up a neck for a fair end. Come, patron, we will drink to Mr. What-shall-call-um. What is his name? Did you tell me? And have I forgot it already.'
'Mr. Alan Fairford,' said Trumbull.
'Aye, Mr. Alan Fairford--a good name for a fair trader--Mr. Alan Fairford; and may he be long withheld from the