THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS
dropped the implement with an oath, and both hands to his ears. "Mercy on me! My heid's burstin'!" he cried.
He was a wild figure, about my own size, but much bent, with a week's beard on his chin and a pair of big horn spectacles.
"I canna dae't," he cried again. "The surveyor maun just report me. I'm for my bed."
I asked him what was the trouble, though indeed that was clear enough.
"The trouble is that I'm no sober. Last nicht my dochter, Merran, was waddit, and they danced till fower in the byre. Me and some ither chiels sat down to the drinkin'—and here I am. Peety that I ever lookit the wine when it was red!"
I agreed with him about bed.
"It's easy speakin'," he moaned. "But I got a post-caird yestereen sayin' that the new road surveyor would be round the day. He'll come and he'll no find me, or else he'll find me fou, and either way I'm a done man. I'll
awa back to my bed and say I'm no weel, but
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