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"He's no the first youngster I've seen the wiseacres o' the world wagging their sagacious pows owre; and, eh, but he was this waster! according to their way of it and, oh, but he was the other waster! and, ochonee, but he was the wild fellow. And a' the while they werena fit to be his doormat; for it was only the fire in the ruffian made him seem sae daft." "True!" said the ex-Provost, "true!
"What a splendid house Templandmuir has built!" cried the ex-Provost. "Splendid!" echoed Brodie. "But a laird like the Templar has a right to a fine mansion such as that! He's no' like some merchants we ken o' who throw away money on a house for no other end but vanity. Many a man builds a grand house for a show-off, when he has verra little to support it. But the Templar's different.
He had a wild tendency to splurge. And, that he might show in a single afternoon all the crass stupidity of which he was capable, he immediately allowed himself a veiled insult towards the daughters of the ex-Provost. They were really nice girls, in spite of their parentage, and as they came down the street they glanced with shy kindness at the student from under their broad-brimmed hats.
If you wait here, you'll be sure to see him! He'll be round the corner directly." "De-ar me, is he so bad as that?" said the ex-Provost, raising his hands in solemn reprobation. He raised his eyes to heaven at the same time, as if it pained them to look on a world that endured the burden of a young Gourlay. "In broad daylight, too!" he sighed. "De-ar me, has he come to this?"
"I wonder what that son o' Gourlay's 'ull come till," said Sandy Toddle, musing on him with the character-reading eye of the Scots peasant. "To no good you may be sure of that," said ex-Provost Connal. "He's a regular splurge! When Drunk Dan Kennedy passed him his flask in the train the other day he swigged it, just for the sake of showing off. And he's a coward, too, for all his swagger.
On the dickey were ex-Provost Connal and Sandy Toddle, and between them the Deacon, tightly wedged. The fun began when the horses were crawling up the first brae. The Deacon turned with a wink to Brodie, and dropping a glance on the crown of Gourlay's hat, "Tummuth," he lisped, "what a dirty place that ith!" pointing to a hovel by the wayside. Brodie took the cue at once.
At first he lets on that he merely gangs in for a drink; what he really wants, however, is to see the girl. Even if he's no great toper to begin with, he must show himself fond o' the dram, as a means of getting to his jo. Then, before he kens where he is, the habit has gripped him. That's a gate mony a ane gangs." "That's verra true, now that ye mention't," gravely assented the ex-Provost.
And I had a verra disreputable hat," he added "Rab I christened him, for he was a perfect devil and I never cocked him owre my lug on nichts at e'en but 'Baker! he seemed to whisper, 'Baker! Let us go out and do a bash! And we generally went." "You're a wonderful man!" piped the Deacon. "We may as well wait and see young Gourlay going by," said the ex-Provost. "He'll likely be a sad spectacle."
'Tis to be done first. Then the Provost will raise the town. He will have a body of stout fellows ready at three or four rendezvous, so that the fire may blaze up everywhere at once. Marcel, the ex-provost, has the same commission south of the river. Orders to light the town as for a frolic have been given, and the Halles will be ready."
Alexander H. Moncur, the Ex-provost of the city, I had the satisfaction of preaching in St. Peters Presbyterian Church, whose pastor, sixty years ago, was that ideal minister, Robert Murray McCheyne. The Bible from which he delivered his seraphic sermons was still lying on the pulpit.
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