The Little Minister. J. M. Barrie

      “I’m saying she was naturally a bonny bit kimmer rather than happit up to the nines.”

      “Oh, go away,” cried Halliwell; whereupon Wearyworld descended the stair haughtily, declaring that the sheriff was an unreasonable man, and that he was a queer captain who did not understand the English language.

      “Can I gae hame now, sheriff?” asked Langlands, hopefully.

      “Take this fellow back to his cell,” Riach directed shortly, “and whatever else you do, see that you capture this woman. Halliwell, I am going out to look for her myself. Confound it, what are you laughing at?”

      “At the way this vixen has slipped through your fingers.”

      “Not quite that, sir, not quite that. She is in Thrums still, and I swear I’ll have her before day breaks. See to it, Halliwell, that if she is brought here in my absence she does not slip through your fingers.”

      “If she is brought here,” said Halliwell, mocking him, “you must return and protect me. It would be cruelty to leave a poor soldier in the hands of a woman of Thrums.”

      “She is not a Thrums woman. You have been told so a dozen times.”

      “Then I am not afraid.”

      In the round-room (which is oblong) there is a throne on which the bailie sits when he dispenses justice. It 61 is swathed in red cloths that give it the appearance of a pulpit. Left to himself, Halliwell flung off his cloak and taking a chair near this dais rested his legs on the bare wooden table, one on each side of the lamp. He was still in this position when the door opened, and two policemen thrust the Egyptian into the room.