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Cathro; but I hope I have changed since then, and that I could pull a boy out of the water without wanting to be extolled for it." That he could say such things before her was terrible to Grizel.
Yet was the Dominie slow to strike; he seemed to find more satisfaction in surveying his young friend with a wondering gaze that had a dash of admiration in it, which Tommy was the first to note. "I don't mind admitting before the whole school," said Mr. Cathro, slowly, "that if these letters had been addressed to me they would have taken me in."
They were about to tear up Tommy's essay, but he snatched it from them and put it in his oxter pocket. "I am a collector of curiosities," he explained, "and this paper may be worth money yet." "Well," said Cathro, savagely, "I have one satisfaction, I ran him out of my school." "Who knows," replied Mr. Ogilvy, "but what you may be proud to dust a chair for him when he comes back?"
"Back, Stroke, and let me pass." "Nay, we fight for the wench." "So be it. The prideful onion is his who wins her." "Have at thee, caitiff!" A terrible conflict ensues. Cathro draws first blood. 'Tis but a scratch. Ha! well thrust, Stroke. In vain Cathro girns his teeth.
And said Mr. Dishart, "Cathro, you had better tell Aaron Latta that the sooner he sends this nincompoop to the herding the better." But Mr. Ogilvy giving his Lauchlan a push that nearly sent him sprawling, said in an ecstasy to himself, "He had to think of it till he got it and he got it. The laddie is a genius!"
The hack does feel the difference between himself and the artist. Cathro might possibly have had the idea, he could not have cut it out. But the hack is sometimes, or usually, or nearly always the artist's master, and can make him suffer for his dem'd superiority. "What made you snivel when you read the pathetic bits?" asked Cathro, with itching fingers. "I was so sorry for Peter and Mrs.
Cathro had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being dogged. When he stopped to listen, all was at once still, but the moment he moved onward he again heard stealthy steps behind. He retired to rest as soon as he reached his house, to be wakened presently by a slight noise at the window, whence the flag-post protruded.
"Well said, Sir Joseph," cries Stroke, dashing the sign of weakness from his face. "I still have many brave fellows, and with their help I shall be master of this proud town." "And then ghost we to fair Edinburgh?" "Ay, 'tis so, but, Sir Joseph, thinkest thou these burghers love the Stuart not?" Vile spoon that he is! "Thou meanest the craven Cathro?" "Methinks ay.
Cathro replied enigmatically. It had so often been a pleasure to Cathro to thrash him! "Genius is odd," they said. "Did he ever give you any trouble?" "We were like father and son," he assured them. With natural pride he showed them the ink-pot into which Thomas Sandys had dipped as a boy.
"His letter was so cunning," said John, "that without speiring her, it drew ane frae her in which she let out that she was centred on Davit Allardyce." "But who wrote Andrew's letter?" asked Mr. Cathro, sharply. "I thought it had been yoursel'," said John, and the Dominie chafed, and lost much of the afternoon service by going over in his mind the names of possible rivals.
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