Mr Mingin Read Online Free PDF Page A

Mingin.
    “But I dae.”
    “Ye’re awfie angry at her, coorse ye are, but she loves ye, even if she finds it haurd tae shaw it.”
    “Mibbe.” Chloe shrugged her shooders, no convinced. But haein talked aboot awthin she felt a wee bit calmer noo. “Thank you awfie muckle for listenin tae me,” she said.
    “I jist hate tae see a young lassie like you lookin sae dowie,” said Mr Mingin. “I micht be auld, but I can mind whit it wis like tae be young. I jist hope I wis a wee bit o help.”
    “You were a muckle bit o help.”
    Mr Mingin smiled, afore lettin the last moothfu o his volcanic bree slidder doon his thrapple. “Braw! Noo, we’d better lea some siller for oor beverages.” He howked aroond in his poackets for some chynge. “Ach, mince, I cannae read the board wioot ma glesses. I’ll lea six pence. Yon should be enough. And a tuppeny tip. They’ll be gled o that. They can treat theirsels tae yin o thae new-fankelt video cassette thingwies. Richt, I doot ye’d better be heidin hame noo, young lady.”
    The rain had stapped when they come oot the coffee shoap. They daunered doon the road as caurs wheeched past.
    “Let’s chynge places,” said Mr Mingin.
    “Hoo come?”
    “Because a lady should aye walk on the inside o the pavement and a mannie on the ootside.”
    “Really?” said Chloe. “Hoo come?”
    “Weel,” replied Mr Mingin,” the ootside is mair dangerous because yon’s whaur the caurs are. But I believe that it wis originally because in the auld days folk used tae fling the contents o their chanties oot the windae and intae the sheuch. The person on the ootside wis mair likely tae get cakit.”
    “Whit’s a chanty?” said Chloe.
    “Weel I dinnae want tae be vulgar, but it’s a portable cludgie, somethin like a wean’s potty.”
    “Yuch, yon’s bowfin. Did folk dae that when you were a laddie?”
    Mr Mingin keckled. “Naw, yon wis afore ma time, bairn. Hunners o years ago in the sixteenth century. Noo, Miss Chloe, etiquette demands that we chynge places.”
    His auld-warld gallantry wis sae chairmin it made Chloe smile, and they chynged places.
    They daunered side by side, passin high-street shoap efter high-street shoap, aw yowlin that Christmas wis comin looder than the nixt. Efter a few meenits Chloe saw Rosamund walkin towards them wi a smaw flotilla o shoappin pokes.

    “Can we cross the road, please? Quickly,” whuspered Chloe anxious-like.
    “Hoo, bairn? Whit’s wrang?”
    “It’s that lassie fae the schuil I wis tellin ye aboot, Rosamund.”
    “The yin that stuck yon sign on yer back?”
    “Aye, that’s her.”
    “Ye need tae staund up tae her,” pronoonced Mr Mingin. “She should be the yin that crosses the road.”
    “Naw … please dinnae say onythin,” wheedled Chloe.
    “Wha’s this? Yer new boyfreend?” lauched Rosamund. It wisnae a real lauch, like folk dae when they find somethin funny. That’s a bonnie soond. This wis a cruel lauch. A hackit soond.
    Chloe didnae say onythin, jist looked doon.
    “Ma faither gied me five hunner poond tae buy masel whitever I want for ma Christmas,” said Rosamund. “I blew the loat at Tapshoap. Shame you’re ower fat tae get intae ony o their claes.”
    Chloe jist seched. She wis used tae bein flyted like this by Rosamund.
    “Why are ye lettin her talk tae ye that wey?” said Mr Mingin.
    “Whit’s it got tae dae wi you, auld yin?” snashed Rosamund. “Hingin aboot wi mingin auld tinks noo, are ye Chloe? You are tragic! Hoo lang did it tak ye tae find that sign on yer back then?”
    “She didnae find it,” said Mr Mingin, canny and deliberate. “I foond it. And I didnae find it amusin.”
    “Did ye no?” said Rosamund. “Aw the ither lassies foond it awfie funny!”
    “Weel, then they’re as glaikit as you,” said Mr Mingin.
    “ Whit? ” said Rosamund. Naebody ever talked tae her like that.
    “I said ‘then they’re as glaikit as you’,” he repeatit, even looder this time. “ You are a