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"You are learned, Master Linklater," replied the English publican, compelling, as it were with difficulty, his mouth to utter three or four words consecutively. "A poor smatterer," said Mr.
"Richie," answered Linklater, "you have certainly sworn to say your prayers in the porter's lodge, with your back bare; and twa grooms, with dog-whips, to cry amen to you." "Na, na, Laurie, lad," said Richie, "I ken better what belangs to sifflications than I did yon day; and ye will say that yoursell, if ye will but get that bit note to the king's hand."
'Let him gang, jock, said another voice. 'Ye ken what a man's like when he's been on the bash. The cauld air'll sober him. I was released, and after some gymnastics dropped on the metals and made my way round the rear of the train. As I clambered on the platform it began to move, and a face looked out of one of the back carriages. It was Linklater and he recognized me.
They were far away from any dwelling, save the little cottage, and the snow wreaths on the desolate moor were becoming every moment more impassable. "I will run to Stromness for Dr. Linklater," she said. "No, lassie, no; there's no use o' doing that," said Colin. "The doctor can do nothing. Go away home and let me die." "No, I canna leave you, Colin," she said woefully.
"I'm getting an auld man and a verra wise ane, and the graund owercome for the world is just 'Pay no attention. Ye'll has heard how the word cam' to be. It was Jock Linklater o' the Caulds wha was glen notice to quit by the laird, and a' the countryside was vexed to pairt wi' Jock, for he was a popular character. But about a year after a friend meets him at Gledsmuir merkit as crouse as ever.
"Never better. I could at this present moment sit upon your fat and florid carcass." "Well, what then is wrong? I say, you haven't it isn't a girl, is it?" "Nothing so lucky for a bloomin' Colonial in this land of wealth and culture. If I only dared!" "There's something," insisted Linklater; "but I've no doubt it will develop.
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.
I made an examination of the body, and extracted several swan shot from the left lung." Dr. Linklater then passed a piece of paper containing the shot to Bailie Duke, saying: "I suppose you need me no longer, bailie?" "No, doctor, that's all," said Mr. Duke. "Just tell Macfarlane to send David Flett in, will you?"
My notion was to get a bed and a meal in some secluded inn, and walk out next morning and pick up a slow train down the line. Linklater had disappeared towards the guard's van to find his luggage, and the soldiers were sitting on their packs with that air of being utterly and finally lost and neglected which characterizes the British fighting-man on a journey.
But if Martin's attempts to relieve his friend of melancholy forebodings were not wholly successful, Dunn's shout of joy and his double-handed shake as he grappled Linklater to him, drove from that young man's heart the last lingering shade of doubt as to his standing with his friends.
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