mud-pies. Ye havena the claes for’t. Beside, I’m tellt they’re no’ the go nooadays at a’.
“‘Weel,’ says she at that, ‘I think I’ll hae a hairy-heided lion.’
“‘Hairy-heided lion. Right!’ says Mr Carnegie. ‘Ye’ll get that, my wee lassie,” and cries doon the turret stair to the kitchen for his No. 9 secretary.
“The No. 9 secretary comes up in his shirt sleeves, chewin’ blot-sheet and dichting the ink aff his elbows.
“‘Whit are ye thrang at the noo?’ asks Mr Carnegie as nice as onything to him, though he’s only a kind o’ a workin’ man.
“‘Sendin’ aff the week’s orders for new kirk organs,’ says the No. 9 secretary, ‘and it’ll tak’ us till Wednesday.’
“‘Where’s a’ the rest o’ my secretaries?’ asks Mr Carnegie.
“‘Half o’ them’s makin’ oot cheques for new leebraries up and doon the country, and the ither halfs oot in the back-coort burning letters frae weedows wi’ nineteen weans, nane o’ them daein’ for themsel’s, and frae men that were dacent and steady a’ their days, but had awfu’ bad luck.’
“‘If it gangs on like this we’ll hae to put ye on the night-shift,’ says Mr Carnegie. ‘It’s comin’ to’t when I hae to write my ain letters. I’ll be expected to write my ain books next. But I’ll no’ dae onything o’ the kind. Jist you telegraph to India, or Africa, or Japan, or wherever the hairy-heided lions comes frae, and tell them to send wee Maggie ane o’ the very best at 50 per cent aff for cash.’
“Early ae mornin’ some weeks efter that, when the steam-hooter for wakenin’ the secretaries starts howlin’ at five o’clock, Mr Carnegie comes doon stair and sees the hairy-heided lion in a crate bein’ pit aff a lorry. He has it wheeled into the wee lassie when she’s at her breakfast.
“‘Let it oot,’ she says; ‘I want to play wi’t.’
“‘Ye wee fuiter!’ he says, lauchin’ like onything, ‘ye canna get playin’ wi’t oot o’ the cage, but ye’ll can get feedin’t wi’ sultana-cake.’
“But that disna suit wee Maggie, and she jist tells him to send it awa’ to the Bronx Zoo in New York.
“‘Bronx Zoo. Right!’ says her paw, and cries on his No. 22 secretary to send it aff wi’ the parcel post at yince.
“‘That minds me,’ he says, ‘there’s a cryin’ heed for hairy-heided lions all over Europe and the United States. The moral and educative influence o’ the common or bald-heided lion is of no account. Noo that maist o’ the kirks has twa organs apiece, and there’s a leebrary in every clachan in the country, I must think o’ some ither wye o’ gettin’ rid o’ this cursed wealth. It was rale’ cute o’ you, Maggie, to think o’t; I’ll pay half the price o’ a hairy-heided lion for every toon in the country wi’ a population o’ over five hundred that can mak’ up the ither half by public subscription.’
“And then the wee lassie says she canna tak’ her parridge.
“‘Whit for no’?’ he asks her, anxious-like. ‘Are they no guid?’
“‘Oh, they’re maybe guid enough,’ she says, ‘but I wad raither hae toffie.’
“‘Toffie. Right!’ says her paw, and orders up the chef to mak’ toffie in a hurry.
“‘Whit’s he gaun to mak’ it wi’?’ asks the wee yin.
“‘Oh, jist in the ordinar’ wye – wi’ butter and sugar,’ says her paw.
“‘That’s jist common toffie,’ says the wee lassie; ‘I want some ither kind.’
“‘As shair’s death, Maggie,’ he says, ‘there’s only the ae wye o’ makin’ toffie.’
“‘Then whit’s the use o’ haein’ a millionaire for a paw?’ she asks.
“‘True for you,’ he says, and thinks hard. ‘I could mak’ the chef put in champed rubies or a di’mond or twa grated doon.’
“‘Wad it mak’ the toffie taste ony better?’ asks the wee cratur’.
“‘No’ a bit better,’ he says. ‘It wadna taste sae guid as the ordinary toffie, but it wad be nice and dear.’
“‘Then I’ll jist hae to hae the plain, chape toffie,’ says wee Maggie.
“‘That’s jist whit I hae to hae mysel’ wi’ a great mony things,’ says her paw. ‘Being a millionaire’s nice enough some wyes, but there’s a wheen things money canna buy, and paupers wi’ three or four thoosand paltry, pounds a-year is able to get jist as guid toffie and ither things as I can. I canna even dress mysel’ different frae ither folks, for it wad look rideeculous to see me gaun aboot wi’ gold cloth waistcoats and a hat wi’ strings o’ pearls on it, so a’ I can dae is to get my nickerbocker suits made wi’ an extra big check. I hae the pattern that big noo there’s only a check-and-a-half to the suit; but if it wasna for the honour o’t I wad just as soon be wearin’ Harris tweed.’”
“Upon my word, Erchie,” I said, “you make me sorry for our philanthropic friend, and particularly for his little girl.”
“Oh, there’s no occasion!” protested Erchie. “There’s no condeetion in life that hasna its compensations, and even Mr Carnegie’s wee lassie has them. I hae nae doot the best fun her and her paw gets is when they’re playin’ at bein’ puir. The auld man’ll nae doot whiles hide his pocket-money in the press, and sit doon readin’ his newspaper, wi’ his feet on the chimneypiece, and she’ll come in and ask for a bawbee.
“‘I declare to ye I havena a farden, Maggie,’ he’ll say; ‘but I’ll gie ye a penny on Setturday when I get my pay.’
“‘I dinna believe ye,’ she’ll say.
“‘Then ye can ripe me,’ says her paw, and the wee tot’ll feel in a’ his pooches, and find half a sovereign in his waistcoat. They’ll let on it’s jist a bawbee (the wee thing never saw a rale bawbee in her life, I’ll warrant), and he’ll wonner whit wye he forgot aboot it, and tell her to keep it and buy jujubes wi’t, and she’ll be awa’ like a whitteruck and come back in a while wi’ her face a’ sticky for a kiss, jist like rale.
“Fine I ken the wee smouts; it was that wye wi’ oor ain Teenie.
“Other whiles she’ll hae a wee tin bank wi’ a bee-skep on’t, and she’ll hae’t fu’ o’ sovereigns her faither’s veesitors slip’t in her haund when they were gaun awa’, and she’ll put it on the mantelpiece and gang out. Then her paw’ll get up lauchin’ like onything to himsel’, and tak’ doon the wee bank and rattle awa’ at it, lettin’ on he’s robbin’t for a schooner o’ beer, and at that she’ll come rinnin’ in and catch him at it, and they’ll hae great fun wi’ that game. I have nae doot her faither and mither get mony a laugh at her playin’ at wee washin’s, too, and lettin’ on she’s fair trauchled aff the face o’ the earth wi’ a family o’ nine dolls, an’ three o’ them doon wi’ the hoopin’-cough. Oh! they’re no’ that bad aff for fine fun even in Skibo Castle.”
Конец
