His cocked hat was
set knowingly upon one side of his head, and while he whistled the 'Bob
of Dumblain,' under the influence of half a mutchkin of brandy, he seemed
to trot merrily forward, with a happy indifference to the state of the
country, the conduct of the party, the end of the journey, and all other
sublunary matters whatever.
From this wight, who now and then dropped alongside of his horse,
Waverley hoped to acquire some information, or at least to beguile the
way with talk.
'A fine evening, sir,' was Edward's salutation.
'Ow, ay, sir! a bra' night,' replied the lieutenant, in broad Scotch of
the most vulgar description.
'And a fine harvest, apparently,' continued Waverley, following up his
first attack.
'Ay, the aits will be got bravely in; but the farmers, deil burst them,
and the corn-mongers will make the auld price gude against them as has
horses till keep.'
'You perhaps act as quartermaster, sir?'
'Ay, quartermaster, riding-master, and lieutenant,' answered this officer
of all work. 'And, to be sure, wha's fitter to look after the breaking
and the keeping of the poor beasts than mysell, that bought and sold
every ane o' them?'
'And pray, sir, if it be not too great a freedom, may I beg to know where
we are going just now?'
'A fule's errand, I fear,' answered this communicative personage.
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