The Burry Man's Day Read Online Free PDF Page A

– Mr Dudgeon’s head jerked up – ‘and I want to know who it is and what he said and then I’ll get to him.’
    Robert Dudgeon stared at him, with his mouth stuck out in an obstinate purse making his large moustaches bristle.
    ‘But you’re being ridiculous,’ said Cadwallader. ‘What has he said? Is it Rev. Dowd? Is it the whisky? Could you do it without the whisky? Is it Rev. McAndrew? Has he said that you’ll bring down the wrath of God?’
    ‘It would be a wee bit late to be worrying about that now, sir,’ said Mr Dudgeon. ‘I’ve been the Burry Man for twenty-five year.’
    ‘Well, exactly!’ said Cadwallader. ‘Twenty-five years. Tradition. Not to mention the thousands of years of tradition before that.’
    ‘Don’t you think I know that? Sir,’ said Mr Dudgeon, glaring at Cadwallader. ‘Why do you think I’ve done it year in year out? It’s not easy.’
    ‘I’m well aware of that, Dudgeon,’ said Cadwallader. ‘And did I not say that I’d give you Monday off as a holiday? As well as Friday. And Saturday for the Fair. On top of last Monday.’
    ‘Last Monday was the August Bank, though,’ I said gently. ‘One can’t take credit for that.’
    ‘Bank holidays!’ said Cadwallader. ‘They’re a new one on me, I must say. I thought the servants were having me on. And there are dozens. All paid.’
    ‘A handful,’ I said. ‘And, speaking of pay, Mr Dudgeon, what about the Burry Man? Do they pay you for that?’ I am not the subtlest woman ever born and this was blunt even for me, only I was thinking that we might be witnessing a stand-off for higher wages and Cad, as an American, might not have been able to read the signs. I mean, an American who wanted more money might simply say in a loud voice: ‘Give me more money, pal!’ but a Scot would rather die.
    ‘Not to speak of, madam,’ said Mr Dudgeon. ‘It’s not the money.’
    ‘Although there is money,’ said Cadwallader. ‘And I wouldn’t have thought you could just thumb your nose at it, Robert. That’s very surprising.’
    Mr Dudgeon glared at him again.
    ‘So how about it?’ said Cadwallader. ‘What would it take?’
    Mr Dudgeon did not answer this, but just shook his head and curled his lip rather.
    ‘Oh yes, I know what you’re thinking. Coming over here, taking over, thinking he can buy anything,’ said Cad.
    Mr Dudgeon and I were both squirming now. Someone would have to have a word with Cad about talking to servants.
    ‘But you mark my words,’ he went on. ‘They’ll find a way to blame me for this. Next year when all those so-called ladies and their tame pastors have stopped playing holier-than-thou and soberer-than-thou all they’ll remember – all they’ll remember – is that the Yank came and a thousand years of history went out the window. You just watch.’
    ‘Cad,’ I said, seeing that he was working himself into a temper, but he interrupted me.
    ‘And I’d like to know, Robert – as well as who’s threatening you – just exactly what they’re threatening you with. I mean you’re my estate carpenter and you live in one of my cottages, so who else can threaten you?’
    ‘Cad,’ I said again.
    ‘No, God damn it,’ said Cadwallader. ‘That’s a very good point. Robert, I am ordering you to do the Burry Man routine tomorrow, as your employer and as your landlord. Do I have to make it any plainer than that?’
    ‘Cadwallader!’ I said. ‘Can you give Mr Dudgeon and me a few minutes?’ Cad seemed more than ready to refuse, even though this was exactly why he had roped me in, but he caught hold of himself in time and, with a last disgusted look at Robert Dudgeon, he left.
    ‘Now then,’ I said. I gestured to a chair and Dudgeon, after hesitating a moment, sat down stiffly and rested his rough, red fists on his knees. ‘I am quite sure Mr de Cassilis didn’t mean a word of that, and of course if you are adamant then you must have very good reasons, but let’s see if we can work