Master and Man

The two men, left alone, turned each toward the interior of the store, and
their eyes met. Alike in gray eyes and in dark blue there was laughter.
"Kittle folk, the Quakers," said the storekeeper, with a shrug, and went
to put away his case of pins and needles. Haward, going to the end of the
store, found a row of dusty bottles, and breaking the neck of one with a
report like that of a pistol set the Madeira to his lips, and therewith
quenched his thirst. The wine cellar abutted upon the library. Taking off
his riding glove he ran his finger along the bindings, and plucking forth
The History of a Coy Lady looked at the first page, read the last
paragraph, and finally thrust the thin brown and gilt volume into his
pocket. Turning, he found himself face to face with the storekeeper.

"I have not the honor of knowing your name, sir," remarked the latter
dryly. "Do you buy at this store, and upon whose account?"

Haward shook his head, and applied himself again to the Madeira.

"Then you carry with you coin of the realm with which to settle?"
continued the other. "The wine is two shillings; the book you may have for
twelve-pence."

"Here I need not pay, good fellow," said Haward negligently, his eyes
upon a row of dangling objects. "Fetch me down yonder cane; 't is as
delicately tapered and clouded as any at the Exchange."

"Pay me first for the wine and the book," answered the man composedly.
"It's a dirty business enough, God knows, for a gentleman to put finger
to; but since needs must when the devil drives, and he has driven me here,
why, I, Angus MacLean, who have no concerns of my own, must e'en be
faithful to the concerns of another. Wherefore put down the silver you owe
the Sassenach whose wine you have drunken and whose book you have taken."