He thought also he observed pistols at his belt.
'I will answer for this gentleman,' said Mr.Trumbull; 'he must be brought to speech of the laird.' 'That will be kittle steering,' said the subordinate personage; 'for I understood that the laird and his folk were no sooner on the other side than the land-sharks were on them, and some mounted lobsters from Carlisle; and so they were obliged to split and squander.

There are new brooms out to sweep the country of them, they say; for the brush was a hard one; and they say there was a lad drowned;--he was not one of the laird's gang, so there was the less matter.' 'Peace! prithee, peace, Job Rutledge,' said honest, pacific Mr.
Trumbull.

'I wish thou couldst remember, man, that I desire to know nothing of your roars and splores, your brooms and brushes.

I dwell here among my own people; and I sell my commodity to him who comes in the way of business; and so wash my hands of all consequences, as becomes a quiet subject and an honest man.

I never take payment, save in ready money.' 'Aye, aye,' muttered he with the lantern, 'your worship, Mr.Trumbull, understands that in the way of business.' 'Well, I hope you will one day know, Job,' answered Mr.Trumbull,--'the comfort of a conscience void of offence, and that fears neither gauger nor collector, neither excise nor customs.