"Here's yer troot, Mistress Cat'nach," he called aloud at her door,
which generally stood a little ajar. "Ye s' hae't for the saxpence
--an' a guid bargain tu, for ane o' sic dimensions!"
As he spoke, he held the fish in at the door, but his eyes were
turned to the main street, whence the factor's gig was at the moment
rounding the corner into that in which he stood; when suddenly the
salmon trout was snatched from his hand, and flung so violently in
his face, that he staggered back into the road: the factor had to
pull sharply up to avoid driving over him. His rout rather than
retreat was followed by a burst of insulting laughter, and at the
same moment, out of the house rushed a large vile looking mongrel,
with hair like an ill used doormat and an abbreviated nose, fresh
from the ashpit, caught up the trout, and rushed with it towards
the gate.
"That's richt, my bairn!" shouted Mrs Catanach to the brute as he
ran: "tak it to Mrs Courthope. Tak it back wi' my compliments."
Amidst a burst of malign laughter she slammed her door, and from
a window sideways watched the young fisherman.
As he stood looking after the dog in wrath and bewilderment, the
factor, having recovered from the fit of merriment into which the
sudden explosion of events had cast him, and succeeded in quieting
his scared horse, said, slackening his reins to move on,
"You sell your fish too cheap, Malcolm."
"The deil's i' the tyke," rejoined Malcolm, and, seized at last
by a sense of the ludicrousness of the whole affair, burst
out laughing, and turned for the High Street.
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