he approached the little green rail which fenced his desk and stool from the approach of the vulgar.  Nothing could give the Bailie more annoyance than the idea of his acquaintance being claimed by any of the unfortunate gentlemen who were now so much more likely to need assistance than to afford profit.  But this was the rich young Englishman—­who knew what might be his situation?—­he was the Baron’s friend too—­what was to be done?

While these reflections gave an air of absurd perplexity to the poor man’s visage, Waverley, reflecting on the communication he was about to make to him, of a nature so ridiculously contrasted with the appearance of the individual, could not help bursting out a-laughing, as he checked the propensity to exclaim with Syphax—­

     Cato’s a proper person to entrust
     A love-tale with.

As Mr. Macwheeble had no idea of any person laughing heartily who was either encircled by peril or oppressed by poverty, the hilarity of Edward’s countenance greatly relieved the embarrassment of his own, and, giving him a tolerably hearty welcome to Little Veolan, he asked what he would choose for breakfast.  His visitor had, in the first place, something for his private ear, and begged leave to bolt the door.  Duncan by no means liked this precaution, which savoured of danger to be apprehended; but he could not now draw back.

Convinced he might trust this man, as he could make it his interest to be faithful, Edward communicated his present situation and future schemes to Macwheeble.  The wily agent listened with apprehension when he found Waverley was still in a state of proscription—­was somewhat comforted by learning that he had a passport—­rubbed his hands with glee when he mentioned the amount of his present fortune—­opened huge eyes when he heard the brilliancy of his future expectations; but when he expressed his intention to share them with Miss Rose Bradwardine, ecstasy had almost deprived the honest man of his senses.  The Bailie started from his three-footed stool like the Pythoness from her tripod; flung his best wig out of the window, because the block on which it was placed stood in the way of his career; chucked his cap to the ceiling, caught it as it fell; whistled Tullochgorum; danced a Highland fling with inimitable grace and agility; and then threw himself exhausted into a chair, exclaiming, ’Lady Wauverley!—­ten thousand a year, the least penny!—­Lord preserve my poor understanding!’

‘Amen, with all my heart,’ said Waverley;—­’but now, Mr. Macwheeble, let us proceed to business.’  This word had a somewhat sedative effect, but the Bailie’s head, as he expressed himself, was still ‘in the bees.’  He mended his pen, however, marked half a dozen sheets of paper with an ample marginal fold, whipped down Dallas of St. Martin’s Styles from a shelf, where that venerable work roosted with Stair’s institutions, Dirleton’s doubts, Balfour’s PRACTIQUES, and a parcel of old account-books-opened the volume at the article Contract of Marriage, and prepared to make what he called a ‘sma’ minute, to prevent parties frae resiling.