While I finished my ale
he chuntered away in his own Gaelic.
"I'll mak' it up in London," he said at length, "but it'll be the deil's
own job."
"It will indeed," I agreed, and drained my tankard dry.
A look at my watch told me it was time to set about my second commission.
Sultan was brought from the stable, fit as a fiddle and eager to be going.
I examined my pistols, ran the tuck up and down in its scabbard, leaped on
Sultan, and asked for the Uttoxeter road.
My Lord Ogilvie parted from me on the fairest terms, bringing me with his
own hands a great stirrup-cup, or "dock-an-torus," as he called it.
"Man," said he, "I'm right glad to be acquent wi' ye. I was thinking I'd
gang all the way to London without coming across a man worth fighting,
much less friending, but I was in the wrang of it. Here's to ye!"
"My lord," said I, "you match your sweet lady. Both of you have been
wondrous kind to a hard-hit man."
We gripped hands, saluted, and parted.
It was all but pitch-dark, and the moon was not due to rise for more than
an hour, but the sky was clear and the stars were out in masses for
company and guidance.
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