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For success in that game depends on pertinacity in pursuit of your victim, and Wilson was the man for that. He was jogging home from Brigabee, where he had been distributing groceries at a score of wee houses, when there flashed on his mind a whole scheme for cloth-distribution on a large scale; for mining villages were clustering in about Barbie by this time, and he saw his way to a big thing.
"I cannot say, sir, that I have the pleasure of remembering you." "Man, I'm a son of auld John Wilson of Brigabee." "Oh, auld Wilson, the mole-catcher!" said contemptuous Gourlay. "What's this they christened him now? 'Toddling Johnnie, was it noat?" Wilson coloured. But he sniggered to gloss over the awkwardness of the remark.
It's whispered indeed, that he left Brigabee to go and help in a pawmbroker's, but it seems he married an Aberdeen lass and sattled there after a while, the manager of a store, I have been given to understa-and. He has taken oald Rab Jamieson's barn at the bottom of the Cross for what purpose it beats even me to tell! And that's his furniture " "I declare!" said the astonished Brodie.
"Whose is it?" said Brodie. "Oh, have ye noat heard?" said the Head of the Town with eyebrows in air. "It beloangs to that fellow Wilson, doan't ye know? He's a son of oald Wilson, the mowdie-man of Brigabee. It seems we're to have him for a neighbour, or all's bye wi't. I declare I doan't know what this world's coming to!" "Man, Provost," said Brodie, "d'ye tell me tha-at?
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