THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"Yes," said Ranald, slowly, "I will be your friend, too. It is a little thing," he added, unconsciously quoting his father's words. Then LeNoir turned around to Macdonald Bhain, and striking an attitude, exclaimed: "See! You be my boss, I be your man—what you call—slave. I work for noting, me. Das sure."
Macdonald Bhain shook his head.
"You could not belong to us," he said, and explained to him the terms upon which the Macdonald men were engaged. LeNoir had never heard of such terms.
"You not drink whisky?"
"Not too much," said Macdonald Bhain.
"How many glass? One, two, tree?"
"I do not know," said Macdonald Bhain. "It depends upon the man. He must not take more than is good for him."
"Bon!" said LeNoir, "das good. One glass he mak' me feel good. Two das nice he mak' me feel ver fonny. Three glass yes das mak' me de frien' of hevery bodie. Four das mak' me feel big; I walk de big walk; I am de bes' man all de place. Das good place for stop, eh?"
"No," said Macdonald Bhain, gravely, "you need to stop before that."
"Ver' good. Ver' good me stop him me. You tak' me on for your man?"
Macdonald Bhain hesitated. LeNoir came nearer him and lowering his voice said: "I'm ver' bad man me. I lak to know how you do dat—what you say—forgive. You show me how."
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