Fiction > Book editions > New York, 1893 - David Balfour

CHAPTER II
THE HIGHLAND WKITKR
Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top
of the longest stair that ever mason set a hand to ; fif-
teen flights of it, no less ; and when I had come to his
door, and a clerk had o^iened it, and told me his master
was within, I had scarce breath enough to send my
porter packing.
''Awa' east and wast wi' ye!" said I, took the
money bag out of his hands, and followed the clerk in.
The outer room was an office with the clerk's chair
at a table spread with law j^apers. In the inner cham-
ber, which opened from it, a little brisk man sat poring
on a deed, from which he scarce raised his eyes upon
my entrance ; iiideed, he still kept his finger in the
place, as though prepared to show me out and fall again
to his studies. This pleased me little enough ; and what
pleased me less, I thought the clerk was in a good pos-
ture to overhear what should pass between us.
I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer.
"The same," says he; "and if the question is
equally fair, who may you be yourself ? ''
" You never heard tell of my name nor of me