I wish somebody would leave me some money,” said Jinnet, “and the first thing I would dae wi’t would be to buy ye a new topcoat. That yin’s Erchie gettin’ gey shabby, and that glazed I can almaist see my face in the back o’t.”

“Then ye’re weel aff,” said Erchie, “for there’s seldom ye’ll see a bonnier yin in a better lookin’-gless.”

“Oh, ye auld haver!” cried Jinnet, pushing him. “I wonder ye divna think shame to be talkin’ like a laddie to his first lass; and me jist a done auld body! If I could jist get a shape I wad buy a remnant and mak’ ye a topcoat mysel’. I could dae’t quite easy.”

“I ken fine that,” said her husband, “but I’ll bate ye would put the buttons on the wrang side, the way ye did wi’ yon waistcoat. It’s a droll thing aboot weemen’s claes that they aye hae their buttons on caurey-handed. It jist lets ye see their contrariness.”

“Oh! it’s a peety ye mairried me,” said Jinnet; “a contrairy wife must be an awfu’ handfu’.”

“Weel, so ye are contrairy,” said Erchie firmly.

“It tak’s twa to be contrairy, jist the same wye as it tak’s twa to mak’ a quarrel,” said Jinnet, picking some fluff off his sleeve. “Whit wye am I contrairy I would like to ken?”

“If ye werena contrairy, ye would be thinkin’ o’ buyin’ something for yersel’ instead o’ a topcoat for me, and ye’re far mair needn’t,” said Erchie, and with that a knock came to the door.

“There’s somebody,” said Jinnet hastily, “put on the kettle.”

“Come awa’ in, Mr Duffy, and you, Mrs Duffy,” said Jinnet; “we’re rale gled to see ye, Erchie and me. I was jist puttin’ on the kettle to mak’ a drap tea.”

Duffy and his wife came into the cosy light and warmth of the kitchen, and sat down. There was an elation in the coalman’s eye that could not be concealed.

“My jove! I’ve news for ye the nicht,” said he, taking out his pipe and lighting it.

“If it’s that the bag o’ coals is up anither bawbee,” said Erchie, “there’s nae hurry for’t. It’s no’ awfu’ new news that onywye.”

“Ye needna be aye castin’ up my tred to me,” protested Duffy. “Whaur would ye be wantin’ coals?”

“Mr MacPherson’s quite richt,” said Mrs Duffy; “everybody kens it’s no’ an awfu’ genteel thing sellin’ coals, they’re that—that black. I’m aye at him, Mrs MacPherson, to gie up the ree and the lorries and start a eatin’-house. I could bake and cook for’t fine. Noo that this money’s com’ in’ to us, we could dae’t quite easy. Look at the profit’ aff mulk itsel’!”

“Dear me! hae ye come into a fortune?” cried Jinnet eagerly. “Isn’t that droll? I was jist sayin’ to Erchie that I, wisht somebody would leave me something and I would buy him a new topcoat.”

“That’ll be a’ richt,” said Duffy. “If he’ll gie me a haund wi’ this thing I called aboot the nicht, I’ll stand him the finest topcoat in Gleska, if it costs a pound.”

“If it’s ca’in on lawyers and the like o’ that ye want me to dae,” said Erchie, “I’m nae use to ye. I’ve a fine wye wi’ me for ministers and the like o’ that, that’s no’ aye wantin’ to get the better o’ ye, but lawyers is different. I yince went to a lawyer that was a member in oor kirk to ask him if he didna think it was time for him to pay his sate-rents. He said he would think it ower, and a week efter that he sent me an account for six- and-eightpence for consultation. But I’m prood to hear ye’ve come in for something, Duffy, whether I get a topcoat or no’. I never kent ye had ony rich freen’s at a’. Faith, ye’re weel aff; look at me, I havena a rich freen’ in the warld except—except Jinnet.”

“Oh, I never kent she was that weel aff,” cried Mrs Duffy.

“Is it her!” said Erchie. “She has that much money in the bank that the bank clerks touch their hats to her in the street if she has on her Sunday claes. But that wasna whit I was thinkin’ o’; there’s ither kinds o’ riches besides the sort they keep in banks.”

“Never mind him, he’s an auld fuiter,” said Jinnet, spreading a tablecloth on the table and preparing for the tea. “I’m shair I’m gled to hear o’ your good luck. It doesna dae to build oorsel’s up on money, for money’s no everything, as the pickpocket said when he took the watch as weel; but we’re a’ quite ready to thole’t. Ye’ll be plannin’ whit ye’ll dae wi’t, Mrs Duffy?”

“First and foremost we’re gaun to get rid o’ the ree, at onyrate,” said Mrs Duffy emphatically. “Then we’re gaun to get a piano.”

“Can ye play?” asked Erchie.

“No,” admitted Mrs Duffy, “but there’s nae need tae play sae lang’s ye can get a vinolia to play for ye. I think we’ll flit at the term to yin o’ yon hooses roond the corner, wi’ the tiled closes, and maybe keep a wee servant lassie. I’m that nervous at havin’ to rise for the mulk in the mornin’. No’ an awfu’ big servant wi’ keps and aiprons, ye understaund, but yin I could train into the thing. I’m no’ for nane o’ your late dinners, I jist like to tak’ something in my hand for my supper.”

“Och ay, ye’ll can easy get a wee no’ awfu’ strong yin frae the country, chape,” said Erchie.

“Ye must tak’ care o’ yer ain health, Mrs Duffy, and if ye’re nervous, risin’ in the mornin’ to tak’ in the mulk’s no’ for ye. But my! ye’ll no’ be for speakin’ to the like o’ us when ye come into your fortune.”

“It’s no’ exactly whit ye wad ca’ a fortune,” Duffy explained, as they drew in their chairs to the table. “But it’s a heap o’ money to get a’ at yince withoot daein’ onything for’t.”

“Will ye hae to gang into mournin’s for the body that left it?” Jinnet asked Mrs Duffy. “I ken a puir weedow wumman that would come to the hoose to sew for ye.”

“Ye’re aff it a’thegither,” said Duffy. “It’s naebody that left it to us—it’s a medallion. Whit I wanted to ask ye, Erchie, is this—whit’s a medallion?”

“Jist a kind o’ a medal,” said Erchie.

“My jove!” said Duffy, “the wife was richt efter a’. I thocht it was something for playin’ on, like a melodian. Weel, it doesna maitter, ye’ve heard o’ the hidden treasure the newspapers’s puttin’ here and there roond the country? I ken where yin o’ them’s hidden. At least I ken where there’s a medallion.”

“Oh, hoo nice!” said Jinnet. “It’s awfu’ smert o’ ye, Mr Duffy. I was just readin’ aboot them, and was jist hopin’ some puir body wad get them.”

“No’ that poor naither!” said Mrs Duffy, with a little warmth.

“Na, na, I wasna sayin’——I didna mean ony hairm,” said poor Jinnet. “Streetch yer hand, and tak’ a bit cake. That’s a rale nice brooch ye hae gotten.”

Erchie looked at Duffy dubiously. For a moment he feared the coalman might be trying on some elaborate new kind of joke, but the complacency of his face put it out of the question.

“Then my advice to you, Duffy, if ye ken where the medallion is,” said Erchie, “is to gang and howk it up at yince, or somebody’ll be there afore ye. I warrant it’ll no’ get time to tak’ root if it’s within a penny ride on the Gleska skoosh cars. There’s thoosands o’ people oot wi’ lanterns at this very meenute scrapin’ dirt in the hunt for that medallion. Hoo do ye ken whaur it is if ye havena seen it?”

“It’s there richt enough,” said Mrs Duffy; “it’s in the paper, and we’re gaun to gie up the ree; my mind’s made up on that. I hope ye’ll come and see us sometime in our new hoose—house.”

“It says in the paper,” said Duffy, “that the medallion’s up a street that has a public-hoose at each end o’t, and a wee pawn in the middle, roond the corner o’ anither street, where ye can see twa laundries at yince, and a sign ower yin o’ them that puts ye in mind o’ the battle o’ Waterloo, then in a parteecular place twenty yairds to the richt o’ a pend-close wi’ a barrow in’t.”

Erchie laughed. “Wi’ a barrow in’t?” said he. “They micht as weel hae said wi’ a polisman in’t; barrows is like bobbies—if ye think ye’ll get them where ye want them ye’re up a close yersel’. And whit’s the parteecular place, Duffy?”

Duffy leaned forward and whispered mysteriously, “My coal-ree.”

“But we’re gaun to gie’t up,” explained his wife. “Oh, ay, we’re gaun to give the ree up. Ye hae no idea whaur—where—I could get a smert wee lassie that would not eat awfu’ much, Mrs MacPherson?”

“I measured it a’ aff,” Duffy went on. “It’s oor street richt enough; the pubs is there——”

“——-I could bate ye they are,” said Erchie.

“If they werena there it wad be a miracle.”

“——-and the laundries is there. ‘Colin Campbell’ over yin o’ them, him that bate Bonypart, ye ken, and twenty yairds frae the pend-close is richt under twenty ton o’ coal I put in last week. It’s no’ M’Callum’s wid-yaird; it’s my ree.”

“My papa was the sole proprietor of a large wid-yaird,” irrelevantly remarked Mrs Duffy; who was getting more and more Englified as the details of the prospective fortune came put.

“Was he, indeed,” said Jinnet. “That was nice!”

“Noo, whit I wanted you to dae for me,” Duffy went on, “was to come awa’ doon wi’ me the nicht and gie’s a hand to shift thae coals. I daurna ask ony o’ my men to come, for they wad claim halfers.”

Erchie toyed with a teaspoon and looked at the coalman, half in pity, half with amusement.

“Man, ye’re a rale divert,” said he at last. “Do ye think the newspapers would be at the bother o’ puttin’ their medallion under twenty ton o’ coal in your coal-ree, or ony body else’s? Na, na, they can mak’ their money easier nor that. If ye tak’, my advice, ye’ll put a penny on the bag o’ coal and gie short wecht, and ye’ll mak’ your fortune far shairer than lookin’ under’t for medallions.”’

“Then ye’re no’ game to gie’s a hand?” said Duffy, starting another cookie. “See’s the sugar.”

“Not me!” said Erchie promptly. “I’ve a flet fit and a warm hert, but I’m no’ a’thegither a born idiot to howk coal for medallions that’s no’ there.”

Next day Duffy came up with two bags of coals which Jinnet had ordered.

“Did ye find the medallion?” she asked him.

“I didna need to look for’t,” he replied. “I heard efter I left here last nicht that a man found it in a back-coort in the Garscube Road. Them sort of dydoes should be put doon by the polis.”

“Oh, whit a peety!” said Jinnet. “And hoo’s the mistress the day?”

“She’s fine,” said Duffy. “She’s ca’in’ me Jimmy again; it was naething but Mr Duffy wi’ her as lang’s she thocht we were to get rid o’ the ree.”