"I didn't know yo' was theer," said David, a thought sheepishly.
"I'd ha' thought it, though," muttered the boy.
Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands up tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
"Ye're thinkin', nae doot," he cried, casting up a vicious glance at David, "that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o' they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince--for a diversion."
" Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better," David replied dispassionately.
"And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye mucide gowk."
"Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
"And what wad ye mean by that?" his father cried.