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But my eyes, good as they are, could make out nothing of the text or title, except that I had a very strong impression that that book was not written in the English tongue. I woke abruptly, and leaned over to him. Quick as lightning he slid his pencil up his sleeve and turned on me with a fatuous smile. 'What d'ye make o' this, Mr McCaskie?
Ye'll mind I took the precaution of measurin' ye in Glasgow, so the things'll fit. Ye've got a new name, Mr Brand, and I've taken a room for ye in the hotel on the strength of it. Ye're Archibald McCaskie, and ye're travellin' for the firm o' Todd, Sons & Brothers, of Edinburgh. Ye ken the folk?
D'ye no agree, sir? By the way, I havena got your name? I told him and he rambled on. 'We're blenders and do a very high-class business, mostly foreign. The war's hit us wi' our export trade, of course, but we're no as bad as some. What's your line, Mr McCaskie? When he heard he was keenly interested. 'D'ye say so? Ye're from Todd's!
'The distance is six kilometres, so you're both wrong. My tone was so familiar to the men that it stopped the wrangle, but it was not the tone of a publisher's traveller. Mr Linklater cocked his ears. 'What's a kilometre, Mr McCaskie? he asked blandly. 'Multiply by five and divide by eight and you get the miles.
I heard one phrase, too, from Linklater 'He calls himself McCaskie. Then they stopped, for the turmoil from the bar had reached the front door. The Fusilier and his friends were looking for me by the other entrance. The attention of the men in the hall was distracted, and that gave me a chance. There was nothing for it but the back door.
But I got the offer from Hatherwick's, and I was wantin' to get married, so filthy lucre won the day. And I'm no sorry I changed. If it hadna been for this war, I would have been makin' four figures with my salary and commissions ... My pipe's out. Have you one of those rare and valuable curiosities called a spunk, Mr McCaskie?
The train was already moving when a late passenger hurried along the platform and clambered in beside me. A cheery 'Mornin', Mr McCaskie, revealed my fellow guest at the hotel. We jolted away from the coast up a broad glen and then on to a wide expanse of bog with big hills showing towards the north. It was a drowsy day, and in that atmosphere of shag and crowded humanity I felt my eyes closing.
Likewise the cuffs and collar, though here I struck a snag, for I had lost my scarf somewhere in the Coolin, and Amos, pelican-like, had to surrender the rusty black tie which adorned his own person. It was a queer rig, and I felt like nothing on earth in it, but Amos was satisfied. 'Mr McCaskie, sir, he said, 'ye're the very model of a publisher's traveller.
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