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Updated: May 19, 2025
Bowdoin, "the directors have voted to give you a six months' vacation; and as some further slight recognition of your twenty years of service, this," and he thrust a thousand-dollar note into his hand. Jamie's labors were light that day. To begin with, every clerk and teller and errand-boy had to shake him by the hand and hear all about it. And it was not for the money's sake. Old Mr.
"What is 'primal cause, grandfather?" asked Betty. "The thing that began it all," said grandfather, regarding her quizzically. "I don't agree with your conclusion," said Bertrand, pausing to put sirup on Jamie's cakes, after repeated demands therefor. "If the cause be evil, it follows that to annihilate the cause wipe it out of existence must be righteous."
And it was Sandy Joyce, quite irrepressible where advice was concerned, who found it necessary to interfere. "Ain't you rubbin' 'em too hard?" he questioned, after prolonged cogitation. Scipio turned to reply in the midst of swabbing Jamie's lower limbs.
"Looks as if he might have stepped out of one of Dickens's novels, does he not?" said Mr. Bowdoin, always delighted to have Jamie's peculiarities appreciatively mentioned. "But how did you come to know him?" asked Mr. James. "Why, I see him once a year or so. Don't you send him occasionally to New York?" "He used to go, some years ago," said Mr. Bowdoin.
"Jamie's foreign mail has come again. But he will never read it here, sir, and we can't send him out till lunch-time: the chief bookkeeper" The old gentleman's eyes twinkled. I will meet you there in a few minutes, and there are some accounts I want you to straighten out for me." As Jamie hurried down to the Long Wharf, he pressed his coat tight against him.
I couldn't find a captain more to my liking." "Nor I a better second mate. We both know our business, and we shall manage it cleverly and brotherly." So Jamie's future was settled before the men reached Pittendurie, and the new arrangement well talked over, and Andrew and his proposed brother-in-law were finger and thumb about it.
Rosie twisted one of her curls coyly. "Oh, just because," she explained. "All the girls are getting them." Elizabeth became interested. "Have you one, Rosie?" she whispered, and Rosie tossed her curls and giggled, but gave no answer. Elizabeth looked puzzled. Often Rosie seemed so old and wise and far away, making her feel as if she were Jamie's age. "How do you get one?" was the next question.
"It was michty tae see him come intae the yaird that day, neeburs; the verra look o' him wes victory." Jamie's cynicism slipped off in the enthusiasm of this reminiscence, and he expressed the feeling of Drumtochty. No one sent for MacLure save in great straits, and the sight of him put courage in sinking hearts.
Countless multitudes of such men as Jamie must there be, to hold the fabric together and make possible the daring spins of you, my lords Lovelace, and you, Launcelots and Tristrams, and Miss Vivien here; who weave your paradoxical cross-purposes of tinsel evil in the sober woof of good. No one knew, or if he knew remembered, what was Jamie's age.
Jamie's father had been a drayman, in the employ of the house, as we have said, until his middle was bisected by that three-inch tire weighted with six puncheons of Jamaica rum.
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