ness of his hide. It was because Gourlay succeeded
in piercing it that morning that Wilson hated him for ever--with a hate
the more bitter because he was rebuffed so seldom.

"Is business brisk?" he asked, irrepressible.

Business! Heavens, did ye hear him talking? What did Toddling Johnny's
son know about business? What was the world coming to? To hear him
setting up his face there, and asking the best merchant in the town
whether business was brisk! It was high time to put him in his place,
the conceited upstart, shoving himself forward like an equal!

For it was the assumption of equality implied by Wilson's manner that
offended Gourlay--as if mole-catcher's son and monopolist were
discussing, on equal terms, matters of interest to them both.

"Business!" he said gravely. "Well, I'm not well acquainted with your
line, but I believe mole traps are cheap--if ye have any idea of taking
up the oald trade."

Wilson's eyes flickered over him, hurt and dubious. His mouth
opened--then shut--then he decided to speak after all. "Oh, I was
thinking Barbie would be very quiet," said he, "compared wi' places
where they have the railway. I was thinking it would need stirring up a
bit."

"Oh, ye was thinking that, was ye?" birred Gourlay, with a stupid man's
repetition of his jibe. "Well, I believe there's a grand opening in the
moleskin line, so _there's_ a chance for ye. My quarrymen wear out their
breeks in no time."

Wilson's face, which had swelled with red shame, went a dead white.
"Good-morning!" he said, and started rapidly away with a vicious dig of
his stick upon the wet road.

"Goo-ood mor-r-ning, serr!" Gourlay birred after him; "goo-ood
mor-r-ning, serr!" He felt he had been bright this morning. He had put
the branks on Wilson!

Wilson was as furious at himself as at Gourlay. Why the devil had he
said "Good-morning"? It had slipped out of him unawares, and Gourlay had
taken it up with an ironic birr that rang in his ears now, poisoning his
blood. He felt equal in fancy to a thousand Gourlays now--so strong was
he in wrath against him. He had gone forward to pass pleasant remarks
about the weather, and why should he noat?--he was no disgrace to
Barbie, but a credit rather. It was not every working-man's son that
came back with five hundred in the bank. And here Gourlay had treated
him like a doag! Ah, well, he would maybe be upsides with Gourlay yet,
so he might!

CHAPTER X.

"Such a rickle of fur