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Updated: June 7, 2025
And he staggered out of the place, assisted to the door by Mr Shanklin, who, after an affectionate farewell, sauntered to the billiard-room, where Mr Medlock had already won a five-pound note from the ingenuous Mr Pillans. "Your friend's in good spirits to-night," said Mr Shanklin. "Capital fellow is Bland." "So he is," said Pillans.
Pillans was one of the fine old Edinburgh Liberals, who stuck to his principles through good report and through evil. In his position as Rector of the High School, he had given rare evidence of his excellence as a classical scholar. He was afterwards promoted to be a Professor in the University. He had as his pupils some of the most excellent men of my time.
"No, no," said he, "I'm not going to have the place made a cock-pit. Shut up, Pillans, and don't make an ass of yourself; and you, Cruden, cut off. What did you ever come here for? See what a row you've made." "It wasn't I made the row," said Horace. "I'm awfully sorry, Bland. I'd advise you to cut that friend of yours, I say. He's an idiot. Good-bye."
When the Social Science Congress met in Glasgow in 1860, Professor Pillans and other savants were dining with Sheriff Bell, whose sound judgment and profound knowledge of nearly every subject brought under discussion enabled him to take a very intelligent and conspicuous part in the proceedings.
"That's what we all do, more or less," said Mr Shanklin. "Blandford here works like a nigger to spend his money, don't you, old man?" "I do so," said Blandford, "with your valuable assistance." "And with somebody else's assistance too," said Mr Pillans, with a shrug in the direction of Reginald. Reginald understood the taunt, and rose to his feet. "You're not going?" said Blandford. "I am.
Durfy, you're a born ass! Come round to my hotel to-morrow at eight, and I'll see what I can do for you," said Mr Medlock. Durfy knew how to value such promises, and did not look by any means jubilant at the prospect held out. However, at this moment Blandford and Pillans entered the supper-room, and his hosts had something better to think about than him.
"I thought you'd try that on," he said, with a laugh; "you're " But Mr Pillans, who had by this time worked himself into a fury by a method known only to himself, cut short further parley by making a desperate rush at him just as he reached the door. The wary Horace had not played football for three seasons for nothing.
And while the horse-racer and the wine-merchant were still discussing preliminaries, and Mr Pillans was privately ascertaining whether his nose was bleeding, Horace departed in peace, partly amused, partly vexed, and decidedly of opinion that Blandford had taken to keeping very queer company since he last saw him.
"We live in Dull Street," said Reginald, beginning in sheer desperation to pluck up heart and hang out no more false colours. "Dull Street? That's rather a shady locality, isn't it?" said Mr Pillans. Reginald rounded on him. Blandford might have a right to catechise him; but what business was it of this numbskull's where he lived?
To the many verdicts of distinguished teachers who since Pestalozzi's time have testified this, may be here added that of Professor Pillans, who asserts that "where young people are taught as they ought to be, they are quite as happy in school as at play, seldom less delighted, nay, often more, with the well-directed exercise of their mental energies than with that of their muscular powers."
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