I'll awa' back to my bed and say I'm no weel, but I doot that'll no help me, for they ken my kind o' no-weel-ness.' Then I had an inspiration.

'Does the new Surveyor know you ?' I asked.
'No him.

He's just been a week at the job.

He rins about in a wee motor-cawr, and wad speir the inside oot o' a whelk.' 'Where's your house ?' I asked, and was directed by a wavering finger to the cottage by the stream.
'Well, back to your bed,' I said, 'and sleep in peace.

I'll take on your job for a bit and see the Surveyor.' He stared at me blankly; then, as the notion dawned on his fuddled brain, his face broke into the vacant drunkard's smile.
'You're the billy,' he cried.