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Updated: May 31, 2025
She had been especially cool aboard the yacht; and certain pictures of Wotherspoon flashing through his mind, an amused smile lighted his eyes for an instant. Miss Howland, who at the moment had turned from Oddington, caught the smile, and following his gaze, instinctively divined the cause. She was not annoyed.
His face was gray and twisted, his voice, when he spoke, hollow, low, and dry. "I must go now to Lord George Murray.... It was all news, Mr. Wotherspoon. I What are words, anyhow? Give you good day, sir!" Mr. Wotherspoon, standing in his door, watched him down the stair and forth from the house. "He goes brawly! How much is night, and how much streak of dawn?"
But he registered a vow that nothing should drag him on to the small platform which had been erected for the benefit of the speaker. As they drew nearer, the voices of Comrades Wotherspoon and Prebble became more audible. They had been audible all the time, very much so, but now they grew in volume. Comrade Wotherspoon was a tall, thin man with side-whiskers and a high voice.
"I had already branded you." "Later, I saw that you had. Perhaps then I did not wonder. In September almost a year from that Christmas Eve I yet did not know. Then, in Edinburgh, I came upon Mr. Wotherspoon. He told me.... I had no wicked intent toward Elspeth Barrow none according to my canon, which has been that of the natural man. We met by accident. We loved at once and deeply.
Reginald Wotherspoon, upon dry land once more, out of danger, sure of himself, was bantering one of the girls across the table, in the dry, masterful tone of one who fancies he understands women; and the rest were laughing at the confused indignation which marked her replies. Dan recalled this girl.
"You have been, doubtless," said Mr. Wotherspoon, "too engaged with great, new-time things to be fashed with small, old-time ones." "One of our new-time aims," said Ian, "is to give fresh room to an old-time thing. But we won't let little bolts fly! I am anxious for knowledge." Mr. Wotherspoon seemed to ponder it. "I live just here. Perhaps you will come up to my rooms, out of this Mars' racket?"
He stood on his own heath, or by his own fountain, but his neck had in it a deferential crook. Lacs rupees factories rajahs ships cottons the words fell like the tinkle of a golden fountain. Listening to these two stood, with his hands behind his back, Mr. Wotherspoon, Black Hill's lawyer and man of business down from Edinburgh. At a little distance Mrs.
There were no fares paid in those primitive days out of club funds, and each individual had to square up his own account, like the Scottish cricketer of the present. Although retired now for a number of years, and out of the run of the game, Wotherspoon, who is in business in the city, is always delighted to hear of its development, and proud of what he did in his youth for it.
M'Kinnon is still in our midst hale and hearty, and when a good thing in football is announced he generally turns out to see his favourite game, and is not afraid to criticise the form shown by his successors. ~David Wotherspoon.~ Mr. Wotherspoon was early associated with the Queen's Park; indeed, one of the original members, and did much in his day for football.
The other day, at Black Hill, this ancient fancy had played through Alexander's mind while Mr. Wotherspoon talked of Italy, and Mrs. Alison of Babylonish lords.... The point was that he relished Paynim knight and Renaissance noble and prince of Babylon. Let Ian seem or be all that, and richer yet! Still there would be Ian, outside of all circles drawn.
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