Chapter 36 - Page 2

though not with all, it seemed to give her such fortitude that he
let her come. An expressionless face was Tommy's, so that not even the
experienced dominie of Glenquharity, covertly scanning his rival's lot,
could tell whether he was gloomy or uplifted; he did not seem to be in
need of a long sleep like Willie Simpson, nor were his eyes glazed like
Gav Dishart's, who carried all the problems of Euclid before him on an
invisible blackboard and dared not even wink lest he displaced them, nor
did he, like Tod Lindertis, answer questions about his money pocket or
where he had stowed his bread and cheese with

"After envy, spare, obey,
The dative put, remember, pray."

Mr. Ogilvy noticed that Cathro tapped his forehead doubtfully every time
his eyes fell on Tommy, but otherwise shunned him, and he asked "What
are his chances?"

"That's the laddie," replied Mr. Cathro, "who, when you took her
ladyship to see Corp Shiach years ago impersona--"

"I know," Mr. Ogilvy interrupted him hastily, "but how will he stand,
think you?"

Mr. Cathro coughed. "We'll see," he said guardedly.

Nevertheless Tommy was not to get round the corner without betraying a
little of himself, for Elspeth having borne up magnificently when he
shook hands, screamed at the tragedy of his back and fell into the arms
of Tod's wife, whereupon Tommy first tried to brazen it out and then
kissed her in the presence of a score of witnesses, including Grizel,
who stamped her foot, though what right had she to be so angry? "I'm
sure," Elspeth sobbed, "that the professor would let me sit beside you;
I would just hunker on the floor and hold your foot and no say a word."
Tommy gave Tod's wife an imploring look, and she managed to comfort
Elspeth with predictions of his coming triumph and the reunion to
follow. Grateful Elspeth in return asked Tommy to help Tod when the
professors were not looking, and he promised, after which she had no
more fear for Tod.

And now, ye drums that we all carry in our breasts, beat your best over
the bravest sight ever seen in a small Scotch town of an autumn morning,
the departure of its fighting lads for the lists at Aberdeen. Let the
tune be the sweet familiar one you found somewhere in the Bible long
ago, "The mothers we leave behind us"--leave behind us on their knees.
May it dirl through your bones, brave boys, to the end, as you hope not
to be damned. And now, quick march.

A week has elapsed, and now--there is no call for music now, for these
are but the vanquished crawling back, Joe Meldrum and--and another. No,
it is not Tod, he stays on in Aberdeen, for he is a twelve-pound tenner.