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D Addttkxial comments / Commentaires suppiementaires: This ittm it filmed •! the rtduction rttio chackMl betow/ Ce docufmnt «t f ilmt au taux de rMuclion indiqirf ci-dtnous. lOX 14X tax 22X 2SX KX J ~ I2X 16X 20X 2«X 711 X ^~^ ' ' Th* copy lllinad hara hu baan raproducad thankt to tha ganaroaity of: University of Manitobi WinnifMfi L'axamplaira film* fut raprodult griea * l« gantroalta da: Univinity of Manitob* Winnlptg Tha Imagat appaaring hara ara tha baat quality poaaibia conaldaring tha condition and laglblllty of tha original copy and In kaaping with tha fllmint contract spaclfleatloni. Laa Imagaa lulvantaa ont M raprodultaa avac la plua grand toln, compta tanu da la condition at da la nattatt da Taxamplalra f llmi, at an conformM avae laa conditions du contrat da fllmaga. Original coplaa In printad papar covara ara fllmad baglnning with tha front eovar and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or lllustratad Impraa- ■lon, or tha back covar whan appropriata. All othar original coplaa ara fllmad baglnning on tha firat paga with a printad or llluatratad Impraa alon, and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or llluatratad Impraaalon. Laa axamplalraa origlnaux dont la couvartura an paplar aat Imprimta aont fllmia an commandant par la pramlar plat at an tarmlnant iolt par la darnMra paga qui comporta una ampralnta d'Impraaalon ou d'llluatratlon, aolt par la tacond plat, salon la eaa. Toua laa autraa axamplalraa origlnaux aont f llmte an commandant par la pramMro paga qui comporta una ampralnta d'Impraaalon ou d'llluatratlon at an tarmlnant par la damltra paga qui comporta una talla ampralnta. Tha laat racordad frama on aach microflcha shall contain tha symbol ^»- Imaaning "CON- TINUED"), or tha symbol ▼ Imaaning "END"), whiehavar appllaa. Maps, plataa, charta, ate., may ba fllmad at diffarant raducdon ratloa. Thoaa too larga to ba antlraly Includad In ona axposurs ara fllmad baglnning In tha uppar laft hand cornar, laft to right and top to bottom, aa many framaa aa raqulrad. Tha following diagrama lllustrata tha mathod: Un daa aymbolas sulvanta apparaltra sur la darnMra Imaga da chaqua microflcha. salon la eas: la aymbola — » signlfia "A SUIVRE". la symbola ▼ signlfia "FIN". Laa cartaa, planchaa, tablaaux, ate. pauvant ttra flimta k daa taux da rMuetlon difftranta. Loraqua la documant aat trop grand pour ttra raprodult an un saul clleh«, II aat flimt i partir da I'angia aup4rlaur gaucha, da gaucha i drolta, at da haut an baa, an pronant la nombra d'Imagaa n«caasalra. Laa diagrammaa sulvanta llluatrant la mlthoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MiaOCOfY tESOtUTKm TBT CHA>T (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 12a 2.0 1.8 I II m m m ^ APPLIED IIVHGE Inc ^S"^ ^653 East Main Streel S^= RochaiUr, New York 14609 USA "■^= (7'6) *a2 - 0330 - Phon« ^= (716) 268 - 5989 - Fax T-.-Wji 3f: S^' T6e flOUSE LV •v-i-v, i J« iM'^^T>o»^i THE HOUSE WITH THE aSEEN SHUTTEBS I WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS BY Cocotito / f THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, U\A,ED '' 1902 Cofiyrig/if^ igoif h Mc-CL"RE, PHILLIPS V CO. EllillTH llU'KKSSllIN TO Viliiam a^ar^ I THE HOUSE WITH THE OBEEN SHUTTEBS iulLTI^ chamber-maid of the "Bed Lion" had Zltf'f '""''"'^ '^' ^^°"* ^'^' »t«P«- Sh« rose a^ZZ r^^'^T- '^^' ''^'"S "^ ^•"^•"'ly habit, flung the water from her pail, straight out, without rno^ng from where she stood. The smooth rou^ S jL^O^ 7 water glistened for a moment in mid-air. he^ of the brae, could hear the swash of it when it fell. The morning was of perfect stillness. The hands of the clock across "the Square" were tttn' *" *'^ '""' °' ^•«''*- '^'^oy -- Aow ^ 1 Blowsalinda of the Bed Lion, picked up the big bass that usually lay within the porch and, .irrvine if clumsily against her bre««t n,..S„» „.._j^"^"^ '* clumsily ag.insther^r:;ru;:vXrr:und^ of the public house, her ™ttip„.f „..,,•»_ u.,.._" „ "If „* iu tf- 7 "'caoi, uiovea on round the compi of the public house, her petticoat gaping behind hTh way die met the ostler with whom she stopped to ^or ous drihance. He said something to h^ ^d she upteit;:r '"' ^"^""^- ^'^"'^ '-^»-h:s A moment later a cloud of dust drifting round the co«er, and floating white in the still air, IhewTd that Bhe was pounding the bass against the end of the hou^ THE HOUSE WITH THE GBEEN SHUTTERS All over the little town the women of Barbie were equally busy with their steps and door-mats. There was scarce a man to be seen either in the Square, at the top of which (Jourlay stood, or in the long street descending from its near corner. The men were at work; the chil- dren had not yet appeared; the women were busy with their household cares. The freshness of the air, the smoke rbing thin and far above the red chimneys, the sunshine glistering on the roofs and gables, the rosy clearness of everything beneath th ^ dawn, above all the quietness and peace, made Barbie, usually so poor to see, a very pleasant nlace to look down at on a summer morning. At this hour there was an unfamiliar delicacy in the familiar scene, a fresh- ness and purity of aspect— almost an unearthliness— as though you viewed it through a crystal dream. But it was not the beauty of the hour that kept Gourlay musing ' at his gate. He was dead to the fairness of the scene, even while the fact of its presence there before him iwove most subtly with his mood. He smokeH in silent enjoyment because on a morning such as this, everything he saw was a delicate flpttery to his pride. At the he- ginning of a new day to look down on the petty burgh m which he was the greatest man, filled all his being with a consciousness of importance. His sense of pros- , perity was soothing and pervasive; he felt it all round , him like the pleasant air, as real as that and as subtle; bathing him, caressing. It was the most secret and in- timate joy of his life to go out and smoke on summer : mornings bv his big gate, musing over Barbie ere he i possessed it with his merchandise. He had growled at the quarry carters for Being late in [2] CHAPTER ONE setting out this morning (for like most resolute dullards various that his men tuKcly start atT" T " p^tSt9Xx;ri-:^^Si-:s;:: the face to his enemies. " I'll shew them " h ih,l nroudlv " Th^„. >> „ ""' "^ thoiifrht, by h.s anxiety to flout it. He was not great nough for the carelessness of perfect scorn ^ Through the big green gate behind him came the sound of carts being loaded for the day A hn™ . standing idle bc.een the ^lAcL'ZkZlVa teadily agamst the ground with one impatient hide' -' foot, elink, chnk, clink upon the paved yard. "Easy damn ye; ye'Il smash the bricks! " came a voL £' there was the smart slap of an open hand on M neck e'reTfoVilSo"' ''' ""'^ "' '^''^^ ^ ^''^ ^^ ."'v' Jlnll " ''i'"* *"P''""" ^^™^^ *« '=•«'<'««, Jock, to voTce "And"" "'"'T. " *•= '""'''" '^""^ -0*" r voice. And canny on the top there wi' thae big feet o' yours; d'ye think a cheese was made for you to dance on ^Iri"''''' ^°?"-?" Then the voice sank to th lety, yet throaty from fear of being heard. "Hurrv un man-h„r>^ up, or he'll be down on us like bleezes ^o^^ being so late m getting off' " C3] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Gourlay smiled, grimly, and a black gleam shot from his eye as he glanced round to the gate and caught the words. Ilis men did not know he could hear them. The clock across the Square struck the hour, eight soft slow strokes, that melted away in the beauty of the morning. Five minutes passed. Gourlay turned his head to listen, but no further sound came from the yard. He walked to the green gate, his slippers making no noise. " Are ye sleeping, my pretty men? " he said, softly. . . . "Eih?" The " Eih " leapt like a sword, with a slicing sharp- ness in its tone, that made it a sinister contrast to the iirst sweet question to his " pretty men." " Eih 1 " he said again, and stared with open mouth and fierce dark eyes. " Hurry up, Peter," whispered the gaffer, " hurry up, for Godsake. He has the black glower in his e'en." " Ready, sir; ready now! " cried Peter Biney, running out to open the other half of the gate. Peter was a wizened little man, with a sandy fringe of beard be- neath his chin, a wart on the end of his long, slanting- out nose, light blue eyes, and bushy eyebrows of a red- dish gray. The bearded red brows, close above the pale blueness of his eyps, made them more vivid by contrast; they were like pools of blue light amid the brownness of his face. Peter always ran about his work with eager alacrity. A simple and willing old man, he affected the quick readiness of youth to atone for his insignifi- cance. "Hup horse; hup then!" cried courageous Peter, walking backwards with curved body through the gate. CHAPTER ONE and tugging at the reins of a horse the feet of which struck sparks from the paved ground as they stressed painfully on edge to get weigh on the great waggon behind. The cart rolled through, then another, and another, tUl twelve of them had passed. Qourlay stood aside to watch them. All the horses were brown; " he makes a point of tliat," the neighbours would have told you. As each horse passed the gate the driver left its liead, and took his place by the wheel, cracking his whip, with many a "hup horse; yean horse; woa lad- steady! " In a dull little country town the passing of a single cart IS an event, and a gig is followed with the eye till It disappears. Anything is welcome that breaks the long monotony of the hours, and suggests a topic for the evening's talk. "Any news?" a body will gravely enquire; " Ou aye," another will answer with equal gravity, " I saw Kennedy's gig going paat in the forenoon." "Aye, man, where would he be of! till? He's owre often in his gig, I'm thinking—" and then Kennedy and his affairs will last them till bedtime. Thus the appearance of Gourlay's carts woke Barbie from its morning lethargy. The smith came out in his leather apron, shoving back, as he gazed, tlie grimy cap from his white-sweating brow; bowed old men stood m front of their doorways, leaning with one hand on short trembling staffs, while the .slaver slid unheeded along the cutties which the left hand held to their toothless mouths; white-mutched grannies were keeking past the jambs; an early urchin, standing wide-leggod to stare, waved his cap and shouted, " Hooray! "—and all because John Gourlay's carts were setting off upon [5] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS their morning rounds, 8 brave procession for a single town I Uourlay, standing great-shouldered in the mid- dle of the road, took in every detail, devoured it grimly as a homage to his pride. " Hat ha! ye dogs," said the soul within him. Past the pillar of the Red Lion door he could see a white peep of the landlord's waist- coat — though the rest of the mountainous man was hid- den deep within his porch. (On summer mornings the vast totality of the landlord was always inferential to the town from the tiny white peep of him revealed.) Even fat Simpson had waddled to the door to see the carts going past. It was fat Simpson — might the Uni- verse blast his adipose — who had once tried to infringe Gourlay's monopoly as the sole carrier in Barbie. There had been a rush to him at first, but Gourlay set his teeth and drove him off the road, carrying stuff for nothing till Simpson had nothing to carry, so that the local wit suggested "a wee parcel in a big cart" as a new sign for his hotel. The twelve browns prancing past would be a pill to Simpson! There was no smile about Gourlay's mouth — a fiercer glower was the only sign of his pride — but it put a bloom on his morning, he felt, to see the suggestive round of Simpson's waistcoat, down yonder at the porch. Simpson, the swine! He had made short work o' him] Ere the last of the carts had issued from the yard at the House with the Green Shutters the foremost was already near the Bed Lion. Gourlay swore beneath his brsath when Miss Toddle — described in the local records as "a spinster of independent means" — came fluttering out with a silly little parcel to accost one of the carriers. Did the auld fool mean to stop Andy Gow [6] CHAPTER ONE about her petty affairs— and thus break the line of carts on the only morning they had ever boon able to go down the brae together? But no. Andy tossed her parcel carelessly up among his other packages, and left her bawling instructions from the gutter, with a porten- tous shaking of her corkscrew curls. Gourlay's men took their cue from their master, and were contemptu- ous of Barbie, most unchivalrous scorners of ;ts old maids. Gourlay was pleased with Andy for snubbing Sandy Toddle's sister. When he and Elshic Hogg reached the Cross they would have to break off from tlie rest to complete their loads, but they had been down Main Street over night as usual picking up their commis- sions, and until they reached the Bend o' the Brae it was unlikely that any business should arrest them now. Gourlay hoped that it might be so, and he had his de- sire, for, with the exception of Miss Toddle, no customer appeared. The teams went slowly down the steep side of the Square in an unbroken line, and slowly down the street leading from its near corner. On the slope the horses were unable to go fast— being forced to stell themselves back against the lieavy propulsion of the carts behind; and thus the procession endured for a length of time worthy its surpassing greatness. When it disappeared round the Bend o' the Brae the watching bodies disappeared too; the event of the day had passed and vacancy resumed her reign. The street and tlie Square lay empty to the morning sun. Gourlay alone stood idly at his gate, lapped in his own satisfaction. It had been a big morning, he felt. It was the first time for many a year that all his men, quarry-men and [7] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN F MUTTERS carriers, cirtert of cheese and carters of grain, had led their teams down the brae together in the full view of his rivals. " I hope they liked iti " he thought, and be nodded several times at the town beneath his feet, with u slow up and down motion of the head, like a man nod- ding grimly to his beaten enemy. It was as if he said, " See what I have done to ye! " [81 II Only a ninn of fiourluyV bruto force of character could huvo ki'pt ull the currying trade of BarMe in hi« own hands. Even in these days of railways, nearly every parish has a pair of curriers at the least, journey- in)f once or twice u week to the nearest town. In the days when (fourluy was the great man of Barbie, rail- ways were only beginning to thrust themselves among the quiet hills, and the bulk of inland commerce was still being drawn by horses along the country roads. Yet Gourlay was the only carrier in the town. The wonder in diminished when we remember that it had been a decaying burgh for thirty years, und that its trude, ut the best ..I' times, was of meagre volume. Even so, it was astonishing that he should be the only carrier. If you asked the natives how he did it, " Ou," they said, " lie makes the one hand wash the other, doan't ye know? "—meaning thereby that he had 80 many horses travelling on his own business, that he could afford to carry other people's goods at rates ihat must cripple his rivals. " But that's very stupid, surely," said a visitor once, who thought of entering into competition. " It's cut- ting off his nose to spite his face! Why is he so inxious to be the only carrier in Barbie that he carries stufi for next to noathing the moment another man tries to work the roads? It's a daft-like thing to do!" [9J THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS o' "JL^ "r '."k • '" ''*' ""'" '•'" •'"'" ♦he .tupoHity htt e or noathmg from the carrying; but then, ye ,ee i g.e« him a fine chance to annoy folkl If you l/k him to bnng ye ocht. ' Oh.' he growk Til .ee if it huUh my own convenience.' And ye have to be content. He has Tot :„°d«rTd r"^ "' '"'" '"" "■« ''"•'« "^ '•""•'' -' that* ^Z.^n '^* 'T'T' "' ""''•''"' '''"'"'' »>o*«ver reprc,H,vene»B natural to the man and a fierce contempt of the.r scoffing envy. But it was true that he had 1.18 father (who had risen in the world) he inherited a the 1 V" '\'T- "'"^ "'•' ™"yi"K to Skeighan on the one «de and Fleckie on the other When he mar ned Miss Richmond of Tenshillingland, he started aJ a com broker with the snug dowj that she bSgh him. Then greatly to his own benefit, he succeeded m ..tablishmg a valuable connection with TemplS J^IT-^A^^^ "'"'*"■ '""P""* °f ^''"'^te' that Qour- % obtained bis ascendancy over hearty and careless Temp an „ and partly by a blulf jovfality which h -so httle cunning ,n other things-knew to affect among the petty lairds. The man you saw try ng to b1 Cr'*'' T^^P'-^dmuir, was a very diffeLt being from the autocrat who "downed" his fellows in Z immediate production of the big decanter More than ten years ajfo no«-, Tomplandmuir gave [10] CHAPTER PWO OourUv T '^""">-a...l that «,,. (|,.. .naki.u. „[ north .hrouKh H.l-^.l'an ' n". j-r;:!'"" "■""' Kr«'at doal of Imildi,,^ on tl... 1, ', '' *•"" " I'lv ooinod tl,u „,„ V I ."'. ■'""''*'""■■'"y'''"'• "- .|..arry had h ri 1 ." '""''' ""' ''"^'^^ .'xhuusfd down „ h U_but h . . ^":;'''" '■""■'' ''"^^' '"'J '-• ''"«lc ■airdonLh^iJ'idS. ;;:;;;;;;'-";"'■'••-•' t.u, the quar,7 horses g nemUy ' 5'"''^ " 7" """"" of brain. Yet he had ThTr ""^ *"""' ^'" "•^''^'•t rnindedh triumifnTh 'y ^'Z^' '*""" "-'■■• >-e with a «en.,e of T'r'na. d:f'"''I'';.T';-''''' ''"' "'"-^ ^•••" " they thought him-Z,M ^"' '"^""^ '^""''^y. « going, and'jea thel S Z^JTIV''"'''' "">' '^- dling in their old ^e'ern '''"1;ov "'' TI' """ """'- tonecrns^^ They consoled themselves THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS witli sneers, lie retorted with brutal scorn, and the feud kept increasing between them. They were standing at the Cross, to enjoy their Satur- day at e'en, when Gourlay's " quarriers " — as the quarry horses had been named — came through the town last week-end. There were groups of bodies in the streets, washed from toil to enjoy the quiet air; dandering slowly or gossiping at ease; and they all turned to watch the quarriers stepping bravely up, their heads tossing to the hill. The big-men-in-a-small-way glowered and said nothing. "I wouldn't mind," said Sandy Toddle at last, "I wouldn't mind if he weren't such a demned ess! " "Ess?" said tli? Deacon unpleasantly. He puck- ered his brow and blinked, pretending not to under- stand. " Oh, a cuddy, ye know," said Toddle, colouring. "Gourlay'th stupid enough," lisped the Deacon. " AVe all know that. But there'th one thing to be said on hith behalf. He's not such a ' demned ess ' as to try and thpeak fancy English! " When the Deacon was not afraid of a man he stabbed him straight. When he was afraid of him he stabbed him on the sly. He was annoyed by the passing of Gourlay's carts, and he took it out of Sandy Toddle. "It's e.xtr'ornar! " blurted the Provost (who was a man of brosey speech, large-mouthed and fat of utter- ance). "It's e.\tr'ornar. Yass; It's e.xtr'ornar! I mean the luck of that man — for gumption he has noan. Noan whatever! But if the railway came hereaway I wager Qourlay would go down," he added, less in cer- [12] CHAPTER TWO tainty of knowledge thHn as prophet of the thing de- sired. " I wager he'd go down, sirs." " Lilfely enough," said Sandy Toddle; " he wouldn't be quick enough to jump at the new way of doing." " Moar than that ! " cried the Provost, spite sharpen- ing his insight, " moar than that! He'd be owre dour to abandon the aul<l way. I'm tailing ye. He would just be left entirely! It's only those, like myself, who approach him on the town's affairs that know the full extent of his stupecdity."' " Oh, he's a ' domned ess,' " said the Deacon, rubbing it into Toddle and (Jourlay at the same time. "A-ah, hut then, ye see, he has the abeelity that comes from character," said .lohnny ('oe, who was a sage philosopher. " For there are two kinds of abeelity, don't ye understa-and? There's a scattered abeelity that's of lie use! Auld Bandie Donaldson was good at fifty different things, and he died in the poorhouse! There's a dour kind of abeelity, though, that has no cleverness, but just gangs tramping on; and " The easiest beaten by a flank attack," said the Dea- con, snubbing him. I I [13] Ill With the sudd™ start of a man roused from a day- . roam Gourlay turned from the green gate and entered the yard. Jock Gilmour, the « orra " man, was washing down the legs of a horse beside the trough. It was Gour- lays o«n cob, which he used for driving round the countryside. It was a black-Gourlay " made a point " of drnmg with a black. "The brown for sturdiness, he black for speed," he would say, making a maxim of Jus whim to giTC it the sanction of a higher law Gilmour was in a wild temper because he had been forced to get up at five o'clock in order to turn several hundred cheeses, to prevent them bulging out of shape owing to the heat, and so becoming cracked and spoiled A ^ u ?' f r '"' ^''^'^ "* ^'^ "•"'iter's approach.' And his head being bent, the eye was attracted to a patent leather collar which he wore, glazed with black and red stripes. It is a collar much affected by plough- men, because a dip in the horse-trough once a month suffices for it, w-ashing. Between the striped collar and his hair (as he stooped) the sunburned redness of h^ neck struck he eye vividly-the cropped fair hairs on It shewing whitish on the red skin The horse quivered as the cold water swashed about Its legs and turned ,,layfully to bite its groom. Gil- mour, still stooping, dug his elbow up beneath its ribs. The ammal wheeled in anger, but Gilmour ran to its [U] CHAPTER THREE head ,v^th most manful blasphemy and led it to thr HuavS; ''" ""^ ""= "''"^<= 1«S«?" ^-id Gourlay £r^^^rf;-jtdS^nSV5 ?SeSdtrtJS«— --?-s; dean" Acl'f "■°'''^" ^-"«' ^-S^' " sHS Clean. A cock-pigeon strutted round, pufflng his ^leam the stillness Th. P'"'''' "'"''"'"^ to enfold The Ta dkHn f T " ''"''' "^ '"^'"''"° ""d peace. cn,,,7 K "''^ pleasure to the eye in a quiet brick wea Lf/o" rn7'""^. ^ f-'' ""d prim;TsX weather you can lounge in a room and watch it through THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS an open door, in a kind of W,y dream. Tlie boy, stand- ing at the window above to let the fresh air blow round h.8 neck, was alive to that pleasure; he was intensely conscious of the pigeon swelling in its bravery, of the clean yard, the dripping puni,,, and the great stillness. His father on the step beneath had a different pleasure m the sight. The fresh indolence of morning was round him too, but it was more than that that kept him gazing in idle happiness. He was delighting in the sense of his owp property around him, the most sub- stantial pleasure possible to man. His feeling, deep though It was, was quite vague and inarticulate If you had asked Gourlay what he was thinking of he could not have told you, even if he had been willin- to answer you civilly-whioh is most unlikely. Yet "his whole being, physical and mental (physical, indeed, rather than mental), was surcharged with the feeling tnac the fine buildings around him were his, that he had won theni by his own effort and built them large though? ofit *'" ""'''• "" ^''^ '^PP'^'' » *e All men are suffused with that quiet pride in looking at the houses and ands which they have won by their 1»nd T V",'""'^'"^ "' ^^' '"'"^^^ -""^^ than at the lands, for the house which a man has built seems to Tld ires f ^r '"''"''■ ^' '^ ""^^ P«™°al than cold acres, stamped with an individuality. All men know tnat soothing pride in the eontemplaLn of their ovvn property. But in Gourlay's sense of proper" Self ^I'.r'^'' f'''">™t. an element peculiar to Itself, which endowed it with its warmest glow. Con- [16] CHAPTER THREE v.rseEublieo, nil %, " '" '"^ ''""- to be an ad- «pite of opposit on. Gourl • f '^'" "' *'""""P'^ '" the Provost'" hlln,!. 7 1 '".""'"P '" t''^ fa-^* to born and bred a ZrC «^ "P'^'on. But he had been oh, yes he knew th W'^f ^' ^"''^ '"^ townsmen- he'had nogYf "of the .ab ^^ t' ''"'^'"'■' ''~ or Bailie of Elder^ ^ ' 'nf •""''^ ""'" ^'^ ^'^^o'^' ' "' ^'•'^'•-o'- even Chairman of the Gasworks! [17] THE HOUSE WITH THE GKEEN SHUTTERS Oh, verra well, vcrra well; let Connal and Brodie and Allardyce have the talk, and manage the town's uffairs (lie was damned if they should manage his!)— he, for his part, preferred the substantial reality. He could never asi)i.v to the Provostship, but a man with u house like that, lie was fain to think, could afforf" to do with- out it. Oh, yes; he was of opinion he could do without it! It had run him short of cash to build the place so big and bra w, but. Lord! it was worth it. There wasn't a man in the town who had such accommodation! And so, gradually, his dwelling had come to be a passion of Gourlay's life. It was a by-word in the place that if ever Ms ghost was seen, it would be haunt- ing the House with the Green Shutters. Deacon Allar- dyce, trying to make a phrase with him, once quoted the saying in his presence. "Likely enough!" said Gourlay. "It's only reasonable I should prefer my own house to you rabble in the graveyard! " Both in appearance and position the house was a worthy counterpart of its owner. It was a substantial two-story dwelling, planted firm and gawcey on a little natural terrace that projected a considerable distance into the Square. At the foot of the steep little bank shelving to the terrace ran a stone wall, of no great height, and the iron railings it uplifted were no b'.gher than the sward within. Thus the whole house was bare to the view from the ground up, nothing in front to screen its admirable qualities. From each corner, be- hind, flanking walls went out to the right and left, and hid the yard and the granaries. In front of these walls the dwelling seemed to thrust itself out for notice. It took the eye of a stranger the moment he entered the [18] CHAPTER THREE 8quare-'M\l,„se ,,lac.c is that? " «as his natural quos- ton A house that <• iHengcs regard in that wav ^.ould have a galh.nt b.^vory in its l^k; if it, ^^^Z mean, Its assertive position but directs the eye to its in S'its ; ^""' •^■' '"*■''' "l'°° " brats it eanno jour notice a manifest blotch npon the world, a place for the wmds to whistle round. Bat Gourlay's house sa«sll "'""i '''^;" """"''"y '■'"'««». " drew and satistied your eye as he did. m^fitt l":'^'""'"'"'^'^ "P tl><Tc on the brae," 7?he tv^n r "^ '"'r'""' ™"^'"'''' *« ™«" because the noor^ «ho owned it, and to women because of the poor woman who mismanaged its affairs. "'Deed an ill Ir " *''"', T'' ''"""'''' "^ *hey ca' him, has' w^h *^ ';"\'""' ""' ^'"''^" «-'"">ered at the pimp, «.th their big bare arms akimbo; " whatever led him to marry that dishclout of a won.an clean beats m7 I thJv irt .™'" 'r' ""■■ *"'' "''■ " ^^« f- the men, hey twisted every item about Gourlay and his domicile^ no fresh matter of assailment. " What's the news" ^ smith Zl '"*"'"^"^ ^""^ " '""« '''^"■nee-to whom the Gourlay has got new rones! " " Ha-aye, man, Goui- ay ha, got new rones!" bu.zed the' visitor, and iJher Z"TV;'""''"'?f '" ""^'b, twinkled a^ each other from out their ruddy wrinkles, as if wit had vol- Green Shut ers was on every tongue-and with a scoff in the voice if possible. [19] IV GoURLAY wont swiftly (() tlic kitchen from the inner yard. He had utmHl so long in silente on the step, and his coming was so noiseless, that he surprised a long thin trollop of a woman, with a long thin scraggy neck, seated hy the slatternly table, and busy with a frowsy paper-covered voluhie, over which her head was bent in intent perusal. " At your novelles? " said he. " Aye, woman; will it be a good story? " She rose in a nervous flutter when she saw h^- ; yet needlessly shrill in her defence, because she was angry at detection. " Ah, well! " she cried, in weary petulance, " it's an unco thing if a body's not to have a moment's rest after such a morning's darg! I just sat down wi' the book for a little, till John should come till his breakfast! " " So? " said tJourlay. " God aye! " he went on, " you're making a nice job of him. He'W be a credit to the House. Oh, it's right, no doubt, that you should neglect your work till he con- sents to rise." " Eh, the puir la-amb," she protested, dwelling on the vowels in fatuous maternal love, "the bairn's wea- ried, man! He's ainything but strong, and the school- ing's owre sore on him." [20] ,:»■ 'It CHAPTER FOUR "Poor Intiih, ahvr..|," said (ioiirlay. niucklc sliw'i) that ilroppi'd liim." It WHH Gourluy'H pride in l.iH I.ouhc that nmdc l.im harsher to hw wife than others, since her sluttishness was a constant offence to the order in wiiich he loved to have his dear possessions. He, for his part, liked every- thing precise. His claw-toed han.ii.er always hung 4 he head on a couple of nails close together near the big clock; his gun always lay across a pair of wood.m pegs projecting from the brown rafters, just abovt o hearth. II,s bigotry in trifles expressed his character ^trong men of a mean understanding often deliberatt'lv assume, and passionately defend, peculiarities of no im- portance becau.,e they have nothing else to get a repute for. No, no," said (iourlay; "you'll never see a brown cob in my gig_I wouldn't take one in a present!" He was full of such fads, and nothing should persuade him to alter the crotchets, wl ieh, for want of something better, he made the marks cf his doi.r character. He had worked them up as part of his personality, and his pride of personality was such that he would never con- sent to change them. Hence the burly and gurly man was pnm as an old maid with regard to his belongings Yet his wife was continually infringing the order on which he set his heart. If he went forward to the big clock to look for his hammer, it was sure to be gone-- the two b. ight nails staring at him vacantly. " Oh " she would say in weary complaint, " I just took it to break a wheen coals ";-and he would find it in the coal-hole greasy and grimy finger-marks engrained on the handle which he loved to keep so smooth and clean. Innumer- able her offences of the kind. Independent of these THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS the Bight of hor Ronoral incomputonei. filled him with a u'Hlnng ra«i., which found vent not in lengthy tirades but the H.uooth venom of his tongue. ].et liim keep the outsi.le of the House never so spick and span, inside was »«ry with her untidiness. She wuh unworthy of the Ions., with the Oreen Shutters-that was the gist of it I'.v.Ty time he set eyes on the poor trollop, the fresh )" rcrptmn of her incom|)etence which the sudden sight of her flashed, as she trailed aimlessly about, seemed to latlen his rage and give a coarser birr to his tongue Mrs. Gourlay had only four i)eople to look after, her husband, her two children, and Jock Oilmour, the orra man. And the wife of Dru'eken Wabster-who liad to go charing because she was the wife of Dru'eken Wabster-eame in every day, and all day long, to help her with the work. Yet the house was always in confu- sion. Mrs. Gourlay had asked for another servant, but (...urlay would not allow that; "one's enough," said he, and w^at he once laid down, he never went back on' Mrs. Gourlay had to muddle along as best she could, an.l having no strength either of mind or body, slie let things dnft and took refuge in reading silly fiction. As Gourlay shoved his feet into his boots, and stamped to make them easy, he glowered at the kitchen fiom under his heavy brows with a huge disgust. The table was httered with unwashed dishes! and In the cor- ner of ,t next him was a great black sloppy ring, show- lT.aH Tk" ""' "l"'''™" '""' '"'^" '"'■'J »P°" the bare board. The sun streamed through the window in yel- low heat right on to a pat of melting butter. There ZbM T", "* .^'"'y "'"*" '"""'"* tl^" t«We, with the dishcloth slopping over on the ground. [33] CHAPTER FOUB ^'^It'8nti<lylmuH,.!" sail! I.e. out the fireplace ilf Urt^tZ' i7t 'T "'" before t conies 1mm.. 'I'l. ij , afternoon »'|olo place gutted out V^t re. „ f ..JSt '^ ,""' "'" "img on the iMrlnnr n. .1 '° ""'' ^^'^ry- " litfle toul'..'^ ' "™ """ ""'"'in«r-no wonder I'm mortar, newlv dri..,1 1 ,„ „i , .? . ''"'" ''"'''''e of "11, tniits it! said Gourlav "I «,.„! if want of the fireplace tlrnt l,-„nV * ^' '*'''" dwhesthatweusedtstr L -^Lr ? T'"'"« *'«' ••viT, ye'll have nlen^v nf ^ i '"' *""""'" ' «'"^- tl.o grand nrr'nt^fo/ r'Z/"'" "T ' ''"' '" in the parishi Wl ^„ f',. ""'"" ''^' '*" ^'l""' "Ssst£^^ Sites- '"■'ivy Karcasms, and snu-|,f r.f"l ? ",. •" '■™t'' '"" «''e would fix her eveson t 1 .^'''■'^''"^'""''■''■V- t^niplation, and 1 e '^ind , ,. '^ ^'^^ f ''"'"' '-"- vacant and wistful re..." ' ' , "' "'"' ">'''• '" " "'"'';. ""' preoccupation of her I •*'» J THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Her head hting u little to one Hide a- ij too heavy for her wdting neck. Her hair, of a dry rcTbrown curved low on either «ide of her brow, in a thiek nn t.dy n,a«B. to her almost tra«H,.„n.nt earl 1 Z eavy and relaxed, in unison with her mood- and through her open n.outh her breathing wa» qS and hort. and noiselesH. She wore no Htajn. and^h ^ .lack eotton blouse shewed the tlatness of hor Lom and There was soniething tragie in her jmse, as she stood elplessness, starmg in sorrowful vaeaney. But Oour- lay eyed her with disgust-why. by Heaven, eve. n", Oourlay The sight of her feebleness would have roused p.ty in some: Gourlay it moved to a st ady all seethmg rnge As she stood helpless before him e stung her with crude, brief irony. Yet he was not wilfully cruel ; only ■, stupid man with a strong character, in which he took a dogged pWde Stupidity and pride provoked the brute in him He w-as so dull-only dull is hardly the word for a man of his smouldering fire-he was so dour of wit that he could never hope to distinguish himself by any- thmg in the shape of cleverness. Yet so resolute a man must make the strong personality of which he was [34] I 'i i ' i CHAPTER FOUK A man Jn n..',, ,,! ^ ;;''"";;'.-"'7'PH.H. .anier. "n.le™tan.l.s. (l,.uHa „>, • ■ '""' ""'"•'' ''^' ""'^h' t» «neor at .v.ry ;;"'tV:;;' '"'^''''t.'-'^C. wan .bl.^ that; it's .I«,nn,..l ,„.,„^n,„, ■• " ' / '^"n ' -ndcrstun.l "f- If " that •• ha.M .. , .;„7, '" """ '"^ """"J" '-' met thoin. "■'"- '"hi 'hi'in so, if |,„ l,u,| The man luid nuulc <)n,r,r,,i to maintain hi.ns .. ' Hu , "",? '\Vri<mpU. „f ,if, the sue. ,.,. of !,js ,„,„.. ,,■',"''. "•'■" "•■^•■r '• l«ir to Sect is rarely the outco„,J „ „;' ,',"? "}' ""^' '^''-'■•"nt depends o„ a faU,to vo . Ll'; ':'"'' """""■^" '' number of eatchwor.1. " nl, n 'I " """'i^"''-'''^ ">«t?" "Winder 1 .'r ""''^"";' " ^'^^ *^"1 ""> "hen uttered with a'oerta n . ' "'?'' "^ P"*™* ''•'"'y "•"lepourlayanad; ;„.";:; ^-g practice ha.{ those he dcspisrd or disliU •?, ' "" "''•*■'•■■ spoke to that he w„.s volublTof sS.". "' 7'"^ *""•" ^"^ f- '«ngthy abuse. H ' a^ ,S,"""'?.''''^^'' "'''"^h low, but every word from i '' "%'""1 his voice was «tah. And of^cn l' .Henc ' : J'""'' ''"'" ''P" '^^ « -^--ee. ie.r:;;irnL"ruaSt7"- THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS In those early dajs, to bo sure, Gourlay }iad less occa- sion for the use of his crude but potent irony, since the sense of his material well-being warmed him and made him less bitter to the world. To the substantial farm- ers and petty squires around he was civil, even hearty, in his manner — unless they offended him. For they liclongcd to the close corporation ot " bien men," and his familiarity with them was a proof to the world of bis greatness. Others, again, wore far too far beneath bim already for him to "down" them. He reserved his jibes for his immediate foes, the assertive bodies Ills rivals in the town — and for his wife, who was a constant eyesore.' As for her, he had baited the ])oor woman so long that it had become a habit; he never spoke to her without a sneer. " Aye, where have yoi, been stravaiging to? " he would drawl, and if she an- swered meekly, "I was taking a dander to the linn owre-bye," " Tlie linn!" he would take her up; "j'e had a heap to do to gang there; your Bible would (it you better on a bonny Sabljatli aftornune! " Or it might be: " What's that you're burying your nose in now?" and if she faltered, "It's the Bll)lo 'Hi!' would laugh, " you're turning godly in your auld age. Weel, I'm no saying hut it's time." "Where's Janet?" he demanded, stamping his boots once more, now be had them laced. "Kb? " said his wife vaguely, turning her eyes from the window. " Wha-at? " " Ye're not turning deaf, I liope. I was asking ye where Janet was." " I sent her down to Scott's for a can o' milk," she answered him wearily. [36] CHAPTER FOUR "Xo doubt yo l.„: to semWicr," said he. "What ails the lamb ' i-it jx- cGiilcioi' send him? Eh?" "Oh, she w. . Hhout »h, . 1 wanted the milk, and she v„ unteerec t. ,;„,,. y^^, it seems I never do a thing o please ye! « imt harm will it do her to run , lor a drop milk?" ■ 1 'VTT'" ',"' ""'' ^'''"'"'^■' " "°''"- ^^"J if* ■■ight, no 4 doubt, that her brother should still be a-bed-oh, if. 1 e£t' '^' '" "'"'"''' *^"' """■ l'^"'"'-'g''-«"«i"8 ''«'« the Mrs. Gourlay was what the Scotch call « browdened * on lie.r hoy. I„ .spite of her slack grasp on lif«-per- liaps, because of it-she clung with a tenacious fond- ness to ium He was all she had, for J.net was a thowless t thing, too like her mother for her mother to like her. And (Jourlay had discovered that it was one way of getting at his wife to he hard upon the thing she loved. In his desire to nag and annoy her, h« adopted a manner of hardness and repression to his son-wh.cn became permanent. He was always <lown on John. The mor.> so because Janet was h.s own favourite-perbaps, again, because her mother seemed to neglect h<.r. Janc.t wa. a very unlov.ly ebild with a long tallowy face and a pimply brow, over which a stiff fringe of whitish hair came down almost ^0 her staring eyes, the eyes themselves being large pale blue, and saueer-like, with a great margin of un- healthy white. But (lonrlay, though he never petted lier, had a silent satisfaction in his daughter. He took *Browd,„„l: a Si>ot devotod to his children is said to be "browdenwl on his bairns." t TliowhsH, weak, useless. [ '^1 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS her about witli him in tlie gi^', on Saturday afternoons, when he went to buy cheese and grain at the outlying farms. And he fed her rabbits when she had the fever. It was a curious sight to see the dour silent man mixing oatmeal and wet tea-leaves in a saucer at the dirty kitch- en-table, and then marcliing off to the hutch, with the ridiculous dish in his hand, to feed his daughter's i)ets. A suddi'n yell of pain and alarm rang through the kitchen. It came from the outer yard. When the boy, peering from the window above, saw his father disappear through the scullery door, he stole out. The coast was clear at last. He passed through to the outer yard. Jock Gilmour had been dashing water on the pnved floor, and was now sweeping it out with a great whalebone besom. The hissing whalebone sent a splatter of dirty drops showering in front of it. .)iil,n set his bare feet wide (he was only in his shirt and knickers) and eyed the man whom his father had " downed " with a kind of silent Swagger. He felt suju'rior. His pose was in- stinct with the feeling: " My father is your master, and yc daurna stand up till him." Children of masterful sires often display that attitude towards dependants, The feeling is not the less real for being subeonseioua Jock Gilmour was still seething with a dour anger because Gourlay's quiet will had ground him to the task. When John came out and stood there, he felt tempted to vent on him, the spite he felt against his father. The subtle suggestion of criticism and superi- ority in the boy's pose intensified the wisli. Not that Gilmour acted from deliberate malice; his irritation [28j I CHAPTER FOUR was instinctive. Our wrath against those whom we fear is generally wreaked upon those whom we don't. John, with his hands in his pockets, strutted across the yard, still watching Gilmour with that silent ofTen- sive look. He came into the path of the whalebone. "Get out, you smeowt!" cried Gilmour, and with a vicious shove of the brush he sent a shower of dirty drops spattering about the boy's bare legs. "Hallo you! what are ye after?" bawled the boy. " Don't you try that on again, I'm telling ye. What are you, onyway. Ye're just a servant. Hay-ay-ay, my man, my faither's the boy for ye. He can put ye in your place." Gilmour made to go at him with the head of the whalebone besom. John stooped and picked up the wet lump of cloth with which (iilmour had been wash- ing down the horse's legs. "Would ye?" said Gilmcur, threateningly. "Would I no?" said John, the wet lump poised for throwing, level with his shoulder. But he did not throw it for all his defiant air. He hesitated. He would have liked to slash it into Gil- mour's face, but a swift vision of what would happen if he did, withheld his craving arm. His irresolution was patent in his face; in his eyes there was both a threat and a watchful fear. He kept the dirty cloth poised in mid-air. " Drap the clout, ' said Gilmour. " I'll no," said John. Gilmour turned sideways and whizzed the head of the besom round so that its dirty spray rained in the boy's face and eyes. John let him have the wet lump [3D] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS slash in his mouth. Oiimour dropi)ed the l<!sora and hit him a sounding thwack on the ear. John hulla- baloocd. Murther and desperation! Ero he had gatluTod breath for a second roar his mother was present in the yard. S!i'> was passionate in defence of her cub, and rage transformed lier. Her tense frame vibrated in anger: you wouUl scarce have recognised the A-cary trollop of the kitchen. " What's the matter, Johnny dear? " she cried, with a fierce glance at Gilmour. " Gilmour hut me! " he bellowed angrily. "Ye mucklo lump!" she cried shrilly, the two scraggy musclci! of her neck standing out long and thin as she screamed; "ye muckle lumji — to strike a defenceless wean!— Dinna greet, my lamb, I'll no let him meddle ye.— .lock Gilmour, how daur ye lift your finger to a wean of mine. But I'll learn ye the better o't! Mr. Gourlay'U gie you the order to travel ere the day's muckle aulder. I'll have no servant about my hoose to ill-use my bairn." She stopped, panting angrily for breath, and glared at her darling's enemy. "Your servant!" cried Gilmour in contempt. "Ye're a nice-looking object to talk about servants." He pointed at her slovenly dress and burst into a bla- tant laugh: " Huh, huh, huh! " Mr. Gourlay had followed more slowly from the kitehen as befitted a man cf his sup9rior character. He h«ard the row well enough, but considered it be- neath him to hasten to a petty squabble. " What's this? " he demanded, with a widening look. Gilmour scowled at the ground. [30] CHAPTER FOUR " This! " shrilled Jlrs. Gourlay, who had recovered her hrcath again; " this! Look at him there, the inuekle slahbcr," and she pointed to Gilmour who was standing with a red-lowering, downcast face ; " look at him! A man of that size to even himsell to a wean! " " He deserved a' he got," said Gilmour sullenly. " His mother spoil« him at ony rate. And I'm damned if the best Gourlay that ever dirtied leather's gaun to trample owre me." Gourlay jumped round with a quick start of the wliole body. For a full minute he held Gilmour in the middle of his steady glower. " Walk," he said, pointing to the gate. " Oh, I'll walk," bawled Gilmour, screaming now that anger gave him courage. " Gie me time to get m;i kist, and I'll walk mighty quick. And damned glad I'll be, to get redd o' you and your hoose. The Hoose wi' the Green Shutters," he laughed, "hi, hi, hi! the Hoose wi' the Green Shutters! " Gourlay went slowly up to him, opening his eyes on him black and wide. " You swine! " he said with quiet vehemence; " for damned little I would kill ye wi' a glower! " Gilmour shrank from the blaze in his eyes. " Oh, dinna be fee-ee-ared," said Gourlay quietly, " dinna be fee-ee-ared. I wouldn't dirty my hand on 'ee! But get your bit kist, and I'll see ye off the prem- ises. Suspeeciijus characters are worth the watching." " Suspeecious! " stuttered Gilmour, " suspeecious! Wh-wh-whan was I ever suspeecious ? I'll have the law of ye for that. I'll make ye answer for your wor-rds." " Imphm! " said Gourlay. " In the meantime, look [31] m THE HOUSE WITH THE (4REEN SHUTTERS slippy wi' that bit box o' yours. I don't lilic daft folk about my hoosc." " There'll be dafter folk as nic in your hoose yet," spluttered Gilmour angrily as ho turnr'd away. He went up to the garret where he slept and brought down his trunk. As he passed through the scullery, bowed beneath tlie clumsy burden on his left shoulder, John, recovered from his sobbing, mocked at him. " Hay-ay-ay," he said, in throaty derision, " my fai- ther's the boy for ye. Yon was the way to put ye down I " [33] In every littlo Scotch community there is a distinct type known as " the bodie." " What does he do, that man?" you may ask, and the answer will be, "Really, I could hardly tell ye what he does — he's juist a bodie! " The " bodie " may be a gentleman of independent means (a hundred a year from the Funds) fussing about in spats and light check breeches; or he may be a job- bing gardener; but ho is equally a " bodie." The chief occupation of his idle hours (and his hours are chiefly idle) is the discussion of his neighbour's affairs. He is generally an "auld residenter"; great, therefore, at the redding up of pedigrees. He can tell you exactly, for instance, how it is that young Pin-oe's taking geyly to the dram : for his grandfather, it seems, was a ter- rible man for the drink — ou, just terrible — why, he went to bed with a full jar of whiskey once, and when he left it, he was dead, and it was empty. So ye see, that's the reason o't. The genus " bodie " is divided into two species: the "harmless bodies" and the "nesty bodies." The bodies of Barbie mostly belonged to the second variety. Johnny Coe, and Tam Wylie, and the baker, were de- cent enough fellows in their way, but the others were the sons of scandal. Gourlay spoke of them as a " wheen damned auld wives." — But Gourlay, to be sure, was not an impartial witness. [33] THE HOUSE WITH THE (iREEN SHUTTERS Tliu Bend o' the Brae was tlic favourite stance of the bodies; here they foregathered every day to pass judg- ment on the town's affairs. And, indeed, the place had many things to recommend it. Among the chief it was within an easy distance of the Red Lion, farther up the street, to whieli it was really very convenient to adjourn nows and nans. Standing at the Bend o' the Brae, too, you could look along two roads to the left and right, or down upon the Cross beneath, and the three low streets that guttered away from it. Or you might turn and look up llain Street, and past the side of the Square, to the House with the Green Shutters, the highest in the town. The Bend o' the Brae, you will gather, was a fine post for observation. It had one drawback, true; if Gourlay turned to the right in his gig he disappeared in a moment, and you could never be sure where he was off to. But even that afforded matter for pleasing speculation which often lasted half an hour. It was about nine o'clock when Gourlay and Gilmour quarrelled in the yard, and that was the hour when the bodies foregathered for their morning dram. " Good moarning, Mr. Wylie! " said the Provost. — When the Provost wished you good morning, with a heavy civic eye, you felt sure it was going to be good. " Mornin', Provost, mornin'! Fine weather for the fields," said Tarn, casting a critical glance at the blue dome in which a soft white-bosomed cloud floated high above the town. " If this weather bauds, it'll be a blessing for us poor farming bodies." Tam was a wealthy old hunks, but it suited his hu- [34] CHAPTER FIVE mour to refer to liimself constantly an " a poor farming bodie." And he druKsed in accordance with his humour. His clean old crab-apple face was always grinning at you from over a white-sleeved moleskin waistcoat, as if he had bum no better than a breaker of road-mottle. "Faith aye! " said the Provost, cunning and quick — " fodder should be cheap " — and he shot the covetous glimmer of a bargain-making eye at Mr. Wylie. Tarn drew himself up. lie saw what was coming. " We're needing some hay for the burgh horse," said the Provost. " Ye'll be willing to sell at fifty shillings the ton, since it's like to be so plentiful." "Oh," said Tarn solemnly, "that's on-possible! Ciourhiy's seeking thr three pound! And where he leads wo maun a' gang. Gourlay sets the tunc and Barbie dances till't." That was quite untrue so far as the speaker was con- cerned. It took a clever man to inako Tani Wvlio dance to his piping. But Thomas, the knave, knew that h(! could always take a rise out the Provost by cracking up the Gourlays, ind that to do it now was the best way of fobbing him off about the hay. " Gourlay! " muttered the Provost in disgust. And Tam winked at the baker. "Losh!" said Sandy Toddle, " yondcr's the Free Kirk Minister going past the Cross! Where'll he be oft till, at this hour of the day? He's not often up so soon." " They say he sits late studying," said Johnny Coe. " H'mph, studying! " grunted Tam Brodie, a big heavy wall-cheeked man, whose little side-glancing eyes seemed always alert for scandal amid the massive inso- [ .".5 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS lence of his smooth face. " I see few signs of studying in him. He's noathing but a stink wi' a skin on't." T. Brodie was a very important man, look you, and wrote "Leather Mcrcht." above his door, though he cobbled with his own hands. He was a staunch Con- servative, and down on the Dissenters. " What road'th he taking? " lisped Deacon Allardyco, craning past Brodie's big shoulder to get a look. " He's stoppit to speak to Widow Wallace. What will he be saying to her? " " She's a greedy bodie that Mrs. Wallace; I wouldna wonder but she's spiering him for bawbees." "Will he take the Skeighan Hoad, I wonder?" " Or the Fcchars? " " lie's a groat man for gathering gowans and other sic trash. lie s :• -.ybc for a dander up the burn juist. They say he's a great botanical man." " Aye," said Brodie, " pnidling in a burn's the ploy for him. He's a weanly gowk." "A-a-ah!" protested the baker, who was a Burnso- maniac, " there's waur than a walk by the bank o' a bonny burn. Yc ken what Mossgiel said: " ' The Muso nae poet ever land her. Till by himsel he learned to wauder, Adown some trottin burn's meander, And no thick lang; Oh sweet, to muse and pensive ponder A heartfelt sang.'" Poetical quotations however made the Provost uncomfortable. "Aye," he said drily in his throat; "verra good, baker, verra good! — Whose yellow [36] CHAPTER FIVE doag's that? I never saw the beaut about the town before! " " Nor me eithur. It's a perfect Htranger! " " It's like a lierd's iloaj;! " "Man, you're riffht! Thufu just what it will be. The morn's Kleekie lamb fair, and some herd or other'U be in about the town." " He'll be drinking in some public house, I'se war- rant, and the doaj; will have lost him." "Iniph, that'll be the way o't." " I'm (lemntd If he hasn't taken the Skeighan Road! " said Sandy 'I'oddle, who had kept his eye on the min- ister.— Toddle's accent was a varying quality. When he remcndiercd he had been a packman in England it was exceedingly fine. ]{ut he often forgot. " The Skeighan Uoad! The Skeighim Hoad! Who'll he be going to see in that alrl ? Will it 1h- Templand- muir? " "(Josh, it oanna be Templandniuir. He was there no later than yestreen!" " Here's a man coming down tlie brae! " announced Johnny Coe in a solemn voice, as if a man " coming down the brae " was something unusual. In a moment every head was turned to the hill. "What's yon he's carrying on his shouther?" pon- dered Brodie. " It looks like a hoax," said the Provost, slowly, bend- ing every effort of eye and mind to discover what it really was. He was giving his jirofoundest cogitations to the " hoax." 'It make him out. IS a hoax! But who is it though? I canna [ ••i7 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS •' DihI, 1 caiiiiu It'll uilhcr; liis lu'inl's so beut with liin biirdi'ii! " At Inst the mull, laying liis " boiix " on the ki'*>ui»1> (itnod ii|) to I'UMi' his spiiu', so tliut hin face was virtihle. " I,okIi, it's .lock (liliiioiir, lln' orra man at (Jour- lay's! What'll he be iloinn out on the street at this hour of the ilavl' 1 thoeht he was always busy on the priniises! Will (iourluy he sending him olf with some- thing to sonieliody? But no; thafcanmi be. lie wnuld have sent it with the carls." " ril wager ye," eried .lohniiy Coe ([uielvly, speaking more loudly than usual in the animation of discovery, '• I'll wager ye IJoul-lay has (|Uarrelled him and jiul him to the door! " "Man, you're right! That'll just be it, that'll just be it! Aye; ayi; faith aye; and you'll be his kist he's tarrying! Man, you're right, Mr. Coe; you have just pul your linger on't. We'll hear news lliin morning." They edged forward to the Tniddle of thi' roail, tlie I'rovost in front, to meet (iilmour eoming down. " Ye've a lieavy burden this morning, .John," said the I'rovost graciously. " Xo wonder, sir," said Oihnour with big-eyed so- lemnity, and set down the chest ; " it's no wtmder, see- ing that I'm carrying my a-all." " .\ye, man, .Tohn. How's that na?" To be the centre of interest and the object of gra- cious condescension was balm to the wounded feelings of fiilmour. Oourlay had lowered him, but this reccii- tion restored him to his own good o)iini(m. lit; was u.sually called " Jock " (except by his mother, to whom, of etmrse, he was " oor dolinny ") but the best mer- [38] CHAPTER FIVE C'liant» in tlii' touii urri' udilri'ioiiiig liiin ua " Juliii." It wus 11 );rr.it (H'laKldn. (iilnioiir exjiuuiJiil in guwi|> iH'nuutli itit intlufnit' Ijiiiign. lie Wflconu'il, Ido, tliin tirst unil tint' o|)|ii)itunity <i! Vfiiting liis urutli on tlit' (iourliiy.-t. " Oil, I just Ifllud (iourluj wlml 1 tluM-lit ol' liiin, ami tuuk tliv iliHir uliint nii'. I let liini liavi' ll licit anil hardy, I eiin ti'U yi'. Ili'll hd' I'orm-t me in a liiirry " — (iilniour Imwii'd an^'rily, mid iinddi'd his luad si^^ulli- caiilly, and ;,'larcd llrivcly, to sIicih wliiit ^(ind iiiiisi- he had givvn CJimrlay to ruiiicMiilHT liliii — " he'll no fiir- git me for u month of Snndiiys." " Ayo, man, .John, what did yr say till him?" " Na, man, what did \\v say to you? " " Wath hv anj^ry, Dyolin?" "How did the thiii}.' In;;in?" " Toll us, man, tlohii." "What was it a-all alioul, .)olin? " "Was Mrs. (Jomlay tluii?" Ui'wildiTi'd hy this pelt of qufstions (Iilniour an- swered the hist that liit his ear. "There, aye; faitli, she was there. It was her was the eaiise o"t." " D'ye tell me thai, .John? Man, you surprise me. I would have thocht the thowless trauehle * hadna the sineddum left to interfere." "Oh, it was yon hoy of hers. He's aye swagj;erin' ahoot, interferin' wi' folk at their wark — he follows his faither's exaniiile in that, for as the auld cock craws tliu young ane learns — and his mither's that daft ahoot him that ye daurna give a look! He came in my road when I was sweeping out the close, and some o' the dirty * TrauchU, a poor trollop wim trails about ; smeddum, grit. [ :>9 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS jaups splashed about his shins; but was I to blame for that? — ye maun walk wide o' a whalebone besom if ye dinna want to be splashed. Afore I kenned where I was, he up wi' a dirty washing-clout and slashed me in the face wi't! I hit him a thud in the car — as wha wadna? Out come his mithcr like a fury, skirling about her hoose, and her servants, and her weans. ' Your sen - ant ! ' says I, ' your servant ! You're a nice-looking trollop to talk aboot servants,' says I." "Did ye really, John?" " Man, that wath bauld o' ye." "And what cKd she say?" " Oh, she just kept skirling! And then, to be sure, Gourlay must come out and interfere! But I telled him to his face what I thocht of him\ ' The best Gour- lay that ever dirtied leather,' says I, ' 's no gaun to make dirt of me,' says I." "Aye man, Dyohn!" lisped Deacon Allardycp, with bright and eagerly enquiring eyes. " .\nd what did he thay to that, na? 7'Aa< wath a dig for him! I'the war- rant he wath angry." "Angry? He foamed at the mouth! But I up and says to him, ' I have had enough o' you,' says I, ' you and your Hoose wi' the Green Shutters,' says I, ' you're no fit to have a decent servant,' says I. ' Pay me mil wages and I'll be redd o' ye,' says I. And wi' that I flang my kiat on my shouther and slapped the gate ahint me." " And did he pay ye your wages? " Tam Wylie probed him slily, with a sideward glimmer in his eye. "Ah, well, no; not exactly," said Gilmour drawing in. " But I'll get them right enough for a' that. He'll [40] CHAPTER FIVE no got tlie better o' me." Having grounded unpleas- antly on the question of llii! wages he thought it best to bo off ere the bloom was dashed from his importance, so he shouldered his eh.st and went. The bodies watched him down the street. " He's a lying brose, that," said the baker. " We a' ken what Gourhiy is. He would have flung Gilmour out by the scrufl o' the neck, if he had daured to set his tongue against him! " " Faith, that's so," said Tarn Wylie and Johnny Coe together. But the others were divided between their perception of the fact and their wisli to believe that Qourlay liad received a thrust or two. At other times they would have been the first to scoff at Gilmour's swagger. Now their animus against Gourlay prompted them to back it up. "Oh, I'm not so sure of tha-at, baker," cried the Provost, in the false loud voice of a man defending a position which he knows to be unsound. " I'm no so .«ure of that, at a-all. A-a-ah, mind ye," he drawled per- suasively, " he's a hardy fallow, that Gilmour. I've no doubt he gied Gourlay a good dig or two. Let us howp they will do him good." For many reasons intimate to the Scot's character, envious scandal is rampant in petty towns such as Bar- bie. To go back to the beginning, the Scot, as pundits will tell you, is an individualist. His religion alone is enough to male him so. For it is a scheme of pej^<jSaTX salvation significantly described once by the I/rerend " Mr. Strnthers of Barbie. " At the Day of J^gment, my frehnds," said Mr. Stnilbers; " at the Day of Judg- [41] ; y ■i [ I I ■ ' THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS ment every herring must hang by his own tail! " Self- dependence was never more luridly expressed. His- tory, climate, social conditions, and the national bever- age have all combined (the pundits go on) to make the Scot an individualist, fighting for his own hand. The better for him if it be so; from that he gets the grit that tells. From their individualism, however, comes inevitably a keen spirit of competition (the more so because Scotch democracy gives fine chances to compete), and from their keen spirit of competition comes, inevitably again, an envious beli^tlement of rivals. If a man's success offends your individuality, to say everything you can against him is a recognised weapon of the fight. It takes him down a bit. And (inversely) elevates his rival. It is in a small place like Barbie that such malignity is most virulent, because in a small place like Barbie every man knows everything to his neighbour's detri- ment. He can redd up his rival's pedigree, for example, and lower his pride (if need be) by detailing the dis- graces of his kin. " I have grand news the day! " a big- hearted Scot will exclaim (and when their hearts are big they are big to hypertrophy) — " I have grand news the day! Man, Jock Goudie has won the C. B."— " Jock Goudie," an envious bodie will pucker as if he had never heard the name; " Jock Goudie? Wha's Ae for a Gou- die? Oh aye, let me see now. He's a brother o' — eh, a brother o' — eh (tit-tit-titting on his brow) — oh, just a brother o' Dru'cken Will Goudie o' Auchterwheeze! Oo-ooh I ken him fine. His grannie keepit a sweetie- shop in Strathbungo." — There you have the "nesty" Scotsman. [43] CHAPTER FIVE Even if Gourlay liad boou a placable and inoffensive man, then, the malignants of the petty burgh (it was scarce bigger than a village) would have fastened on his character, simply because he was above them. No man has a keener eye for behaviour than the Scot (espe- cially when spite wings his intuition), and Gourlay's thickness of wit, and pride of place, would in any case have drawn their sneers. So, too, on lower grounds, would his wife's sluttishness. But his repressiveness added a hundred-fold to their hate of him. That was the particular caus», which acting on their general tendency to belittle a too-succ ssful rival, made their spite almost monstrous against him. Not a man among them but had felt the weight of his tongue —for edge it had none. He walked among them like the dirt below his feet. There was no give and take in the man; he could be verra jocose with the lairds, to be sure, but he never dropped in to the Red Lion for a crack and a dram with the town-folk; he just glowered as if he could devour them! And who was he, I should like to know? His grandfather had been noathing but a common carrier! Hate was the greater on both sides because it was often impotent. Gourlay frequently suspected offence, and seethed because he had no idea how to meet it —except by driving slowly down the brae in his new- gig and never letting on when the Provost called to him. That was a wipe in the eye for the Provost! The " bod- ies," on their part, could rarely get near enough Gourlay to pierce his armour; he kept them off him by his brutal doumess. For it was not only pride and arrogance, but a consciousness, also, that he was no match for [43] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTEK8 them at their own game, that kept Gourlay away from their society. Tliey were adepts at the under stroke and they would have given him many a dig if he had only come amongst them. But, oh, no; not ho; he was the big man; he never gave a body a chance! Or if you did venture a bit jibe when you met him, he glowered you off the face of the earth with thae black e'en of his. Oh, how they longed to get at him! It was not the least of the evils caused by Gourlay's black pride that it per- verted a dozen characters. The " bodies " of Barbie may have been decent enough men in their own way, but against him their malevolence was monstrous. It shewed itself in an insane desire to seize on every scrap . f gossip they might twist against him. That was why .he Provost lowered municipal dignity to gossip in the street with a discharged servant. As the baker said afterwards, it was absurd for a man in his " poseetion." But it was done with the sole desire of hearing some- thing that might tell against Gourlay. Even Count- esses, we are told, gossip with malicious maids, about other Countesses. Spite is a great leveller. "Shall we adjourn?" said Brodie, when they had watched Jock Gilmour out of sight. He pointed ac.' 3s his shoulder to the Eed Lion. " Better noat just now," s lid the Provost, nodding in slow authority; " better noat just now! I'm very anx- ious to sec Gourlay about yon matter we were speaking of, doan't ye undersfa-and? But I'm determined not to go to his house! On the other hand if we go into the Red Lion the now, we may miss him on the street. We'll noat have loang to wait, though; he'll be down the town directly, to look at the horses he has at the [44] CHAPTER FIVE gerse out the Fcchars Road. But Vm tailing yo, I sim- ply will noat go to his house-to put up with a «heen damned insults! " he pulfed in angry recollection " To tell the truth," said Wylie, " I don't like to call upon Gourlay, eitlier. I'm aware of his eyes on my back when I slink beaten through his gate— and I fpcl that my hurdles are wanting in dignity! " "Iluh!" spluttered Krodie, "that never effects mo I come stunting out in a blecze of wrath and slam the yett ahint me! " ""!i, well," said the Deacon, "that'th one way of being dignified." " I'm afraid," said Sandy Toddle, "that he won't be m a very g„o,l key to ..onsidor our request this morning, after his quarrel with Gilinour." "No," said the Provost, "he'll be blazing angry' Its most unfoartunate. But we maun try to get his consent be his temper what it will. It's a matter of importance to the town, doan't ye see, and if he refuses, we simply can-noat proceed wi' the improvement " It was Gilmour's jibe at the House wi' the Green bhutters that would anger him the most— for it's the perfect god of his idolatry. Eh, sirs, he has wasted an awful money upon yon house! " lauT'tw *''!,T'^'" ««iJ B^die with a blatant laugh "Wasted's the word! They say he has verra ^ttle lying cash! And I shouldna be surprised at all. TuMi^V:'*?." '"" ''' '""''^^ •^'•^'^'^'^ ^'^ «-- the "Oh, I'se warrant Cunning Johnny would get the better o an ass like Gourlay. B,^ how in par! tieular, Mr. Brodio? ir^ve yo heard ainv details? " [ 45 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " I've been on the track o' the thing for a while back, but itwas onlyyestreen I had the proofs o't. ItwasHobin Wabster that telled me. He's a jouking bodie, Bobin, and he was ahint a dyke up the Skcighan Boad when Gibson and Gourlay foregathered— they stoppit just forenenst him! Gourlay began to curse at the size of Gibson's bill, but Cunning Johnny kenned the way to get round him brawly. ' Mr. Gourlay,' says he, ' there's not a thing in your house that a man in your poseetion can afford to be without— and ye needn't expect the best house in Barbie for an oald song! ' And Gourlay was pacified at once! It appeared frae their crack, how- ever, that Gibson has diddled him tremendous. ' Verra well then,' Robin heard Gourlay cry, ' you must allow me a while ere I pay that! ' I wager, for a' sae muckle as he's made of late, that his balance at the bank's a sma' yin." " More thyow than thubstanth," said the Deacon. " Well, I'm sure! " said the Provost, " he needn't have built such a gra-and house to put a slut of a wife like yon in! " " I was surprised," said Sandy Toddle, " to hear about her firing up. I wouldn't have thought she had the spirit, or that Gourlay would have come to her sup- port! " " Oh," said the Provost, " it wasn't her he was think- ing of! It was his own pride, the brute. He leads the woman the life of a doag. I'm surprised that he ever married her! " " I ken fine how he married her," said Johnny Coe. ■' I was acquaint wi' her faither, auld Tenshillingland owre at Feehars- a grand farmer he was, wi' land o' his [46] I J CHAPTER FIVE nam, and a gey pickle bawbees. It was the bawbees, and not the woman, tliat Gourlay went after! It was her money, as ye ken, that set him on his feet, and made him such a big man. He never cared a preen for her, and then when she proved a dirty trollop, he couldna endure her look! That's what makes him so sore upon her now And yet I mind her a braw lass, too," said Johnny the sentimentalist, " a braw lass she was," he mused, " wi' fine, brown glossy hair, I mind, and,— ochonee ! ochonee! —as daft as a yett in a windy day. She had a cousin, Jenny Wabstcr, that dwelt in TenshiUingland than, and mony a summer nicht up the Fechars Boad, when yp smellcd the honey-suckle in the gloaming, I have heard the two o' them tee-hceing owre the lads thcgither, skirl- ing in the dark and lauching to themselves. They were of the glaiklt kind ye can always hear loang before ye see. Jock Allan (that lias done so well in Embro) was a herd at TenshiUingland than, and he likit her, and I think she likit him, but (Jourlay came wi' his gig and whisked hor away. She doesna lauch sae muckle now, puir bodic! But a braw lass she " " It's you maun speak to Gourlay, Deacon," said the Provost, brushing aside the reminiscent Coe. "How can it be that. Provost? It'th your place, surely. You're the head of the town! » When Oourlay was to be approached there was always a competition for who should be hindmost. " Yass, but you know perfectly well. Deacon, that I cannot thole the look of him. I simply cknnot thole the look! And he knows it too. The thing'll gang smash at the outset-/'m tailing ye, now-it'll go smash [47] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS 1 1 ' at the outset if it's left to me. — Ami than, yc see, you have a better way of approaching folkl " " Ith that tho?" said the Deacon drily. Ho shot a suspicious glance to seo if tho I'rovost was guy- ing him. " Oh, it must 1)0 left to you. Deacon," said the baker and Tnm Wylie i a breath. " Certainly, it maun be left to the Deacon," assented Johnny C'oe, when he saw how tho others were giving their opinion. " Tho be it, then," snapped the Deacon. " Here he comqs," said Sandy Toddle. Oourlay came down the street towards them, his chest big, his thumbs in the arniholes of his waistcoat. Ho had the power of staring steadily at those whom he ap- proached without the slightest sign of recognition oi intelligence appearing in his eyes. As he marched down upon the bodies he fixed them with a wide-open glower that was devoid of every expression but cour- ageous steadiness. It gave a kind of fierce vacancy to his look. The Deacon limped forward on his thin shanks to the middle of the road. " It'th a fine morning, Mr. Gourlay," he simpered. " There's noathing wrong with the morning," grunted Gourlay, as if there was something wrong with the Deacon. " We wath wanting to thee ye on a very important matter, Mithter Gourlay," lisped the Deacon, smiling up at the big man's face, with his head on one side, and rubbing his fingers in front of him. " It'th a mat- ter of the common good, you thee; and we all agreed [48] CHAPTER FIVE that we aliould speak to you, ath the foremost merchant of the town! " AUardyco meant his compliment to fetch Gourlay. lUit Gourlay knew his Allardyce and was cautious. It was well to be on your guard when the Deacon was com- plimentary. When his lang\iage was most flowery there was sure to be a 8eri)ont hidden in it somewhere. He would lisp out an innocent remark and toddle away, and Gourlay would think nothing of the matter till a week afterwards, perhaps, when something would flash a light —then " Damn him, did he mean ' that '? " ho would seethe, starting back and staring at the " that " while his lingers strangled the air in pliice of the Deacon. He glowered at the Deacon now till the Deacon blinked. " You thee, Mr. Gourlav " Allardyce shuffled uneas- ily, " it's for your own benefit just ath much ath ourth. We wore thinking of you ath well ath of ourthelves! Oh, yeth, oh, yeth! " " Aye, man! " said Gourlay, " that was kind of ye! I'll be the first man in Barbie to get ainy benefit from the fools that mismanage our affairs." The gravel grated beneath the Provost's foot. The atmosphere was becoming electric, and the Deacon has- tened to the point. " You thee, there'th a fine natural supply of water — a perfect reservore the Provost sajrth — on the brae-face just above your garden, Mr. Gourlay. Now, it would be easy to lead that water down and alang through all the gardenth on the high aide of ifain Street — and, 'deed, it might feed a pump at the Cross, too, to supply the lower portionth o' the town. It would really be a [49] I i THE HOUSE WITH THE OREEN SHUTTERS grai-ait convenience— Every man on the liigh side o' 3fain Street would have a running spout at hig own back door! If your garden didna run tho far back, Mr. Gour- luy, and ye hadna tho mucklc land about your place " thai should fetch him, thought the Deacon!— "if it werena for that, Mr. Gourlay, wo could easily lead the water round to the other gardenth without interfering with your property. But, ath it ith, we simply can- noat move without ye. The water must come through your garden, if it comes at a-all." " The most o' you important men live on tho high side o' Main Street," birred Gourlay. '• Is it the poor folk at the Cross, or your ain bits o' back doors that you're thinking o'? " " Oh— oh, Mr. Gourlay! " protested Allardyce, head flung back, and palms in air, to keep the thought of self- interest away, " oh— oh, Mr. Gourlay! We're thinking of noathing but the common good, I do assure ye." "Aye, man! You're dis-in-ter-ested! " said Gour- lay, but he stumbled on tho big word and spoiled the sneer. That angered him, and, " it's likely," he rapped out, " that I'll allow the land round my house to be howkcd and trenched and made a mudhole of, to oblige a wheen things like you! " " Oh— oh, but think of the convenience to nth — eh— eh — I mean to the common good," said Allardyce. "I howked wells for myself," snapped Gourlay. " Let others do tbe like." "Oh, but we ; ven't all the enterprithe of you, Mr. Gourlay. You'll surely accommodate the town! " " 111 see the town damned first," said Gourlay, and passed on his steady way. [50] VI The bodies watched Oourlay in silence until he was cat o( ear-shot. Then, " It's monstrous! " the Provost broke out in solemn anger; "I declare it's perfectly monstrousi But I believe we could get Pow-ers to com- pel him. Yass; I believe we could get Pow-ers. I do believe we could get Pow-ers." The Provost was fond of talking about " Pow-ers " because it implied that he was intimate with the great authorities who might delegate hucIi " Pow-ers " to him. To talk of " Pow-ers," mysteriously, was a trib- ute to his own importance. He rolled the word on his tongue as if he enjoyed the sound of it. On the Deacon's check bones two red spots flamed, round and big as a Scotch penny. His was the hurt silence of the baffled diplomatii ' i whom a defeat means reflections on his own ability " Demn him! " he skirled, following the solid march of his enemy with fiery eyes. Never before had his Deaconship been heard to swear. Tam Wylie laughed at the shrill oath till his eyes were buried in his merry wrinkles, a suppressed snirt a con- tinuous gurgle in the throat and nose, in beaming sur- vey the while of the withered old creature dancing in his rage. (It was all a good joke to Tam, because, living on the outskirts of the town, he hi [51] I spigot of his II' THE HOUSE WITH THE OREEN SHUTTERS own to feed.) The Deacon turned the eyes of hate on him. Domn Wylio too,— what was he laughing at! " Oh, I darcthay you could have got round him! " he snapped. "In my opinion, Allardycc," said the baker, "you mismanaged the whole uirair. Yon wasna the way to O])i)roaeh him! " It'th a pity you didna try your hand, then, I'm sure! No doubt a clover man like you would have worked wonderthi " So the bodies wrangled among themselves. Some- how or other Oourlay had the knack of setting them by the ears. It was not till they hit on a common topic of their spite in railing at him, that they became a band of brothers and a happy few. "Whisht! » said Sandy Toddle, suddenly, « here's his boy! " John was coming towards them on his way to school. Ihe bodies watched him as he passed, with the fixed look men turn on a boy of whose kinsmen they were talking even now. They affect a stony and deliberate regard, partly to include the new-comer in their critical survey of his family, and partly to banish from their own eyes any sign that they have just been running down his people. John, as quick as his mother to feel, knew in a moment they were watching him. He hung his head sheepishly and blushed, and the moment he was past he broke into a nervous trot, the bag of books bumping on his back as he ran. " He's getting a big boy, that son of Gouriay's," said tlie Provost, " how oald will he be? " "He's approaching twelve," said Johnny Coe, who [68] CHAPTER SIX made a point of being ablu t« Hupjily »mh newK because it gained biiii fonniderotiou wliere bo wi otherwise unheeded. " He was born the day the brig on the Fleckie Road gaed down, in the year o' the great flood; and since the great flood it's twelve year come Lammas. Rab Tosh o' Fleckie's wife was heavy-footed at the time, and Doctor Munn had been a' nicht wi' her, and when he cam to Barbie Water in tlie morning it waa roaring wide frae bank to brae; where the brig should have been there was naething but the swashing of the yellow waves. Munn had to drive a' the way round to the Fechars brig, and in parts o' the road the water was so deep that it lapped his horse's bellyband. A' this time Mrs. Qourlay was skirling in her pains and praying to Ood she micht dec. Gourlay had been a great crony o' Munn's, but ho quarrelled him for being late; he had trysted him, ye see, for the occasion, and he had been twenty times at the yctt to look for him,— ye ken how little he would stomach that; he was ready to brust wi' anger. Munn, mad for the want of sleep and wat to the bane, swiire back at him; and tlian Gourlay wadna let him near his wife! Ye mind what an awful day it was; the thunder roared as if the heavens were tumbling on the world, and the lichtnin sent the trees daudin on the roads, and folk hid below their beds and prayed— they thocht it was the Judgment! But Gourlay rammed his black stepper in the shafts, ond drave like the devil o' hell to Skeighan Drone, where there was a young doctor. The lad was feared to come, but Gourlay swore by Ood that he should, and he garred him. In a' the countryside driving like his that day was never kenned or heard tell o'; they wore back within the hour! [63] il THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS I saw them gallop up Main Street; lichtnin struck the ground before them; the young doctor covered his face wi' his hands, and the horse nichered wi' fear and tried to wheel, but Gourlay s*ood up in the gig and lashed him on through the fire. It was thocht for lang that lirs. Gourlay would die; and she was never the same woman after. Atweel aye, sirs, Gourlay has that morning's work to blame for the poor wife he has now. Him and Munn never spoke to each other again, and Munn died within the twelvemonth, — he got his death that morning on the Fleokie Road. But, for a' so pack's they had been, Gourlay never looked near him." Coe had told his story with enjoying gusto, and had told it well— for Johnny, though constantly snubb^'d by his fellows, was in many ways the ablest of them all. His voice and manner drove it home. They knew, be- sides, he was telling what himself had seen. For they knew he was lying prostrate with fear in the open smiddyshed from the time Gourlay went to Skeighan Drone to the time that he came back; and that he had seen him both come and go. They wer" silent for a while, impressed, in spite of themselves, by the vivid presentment of Gourlay's maahood on the day that had scared them all. The baker lelt inclined to cry out on his cruelty for keeping his wife suffering to gratify his wrath; but the sudden picture of the man's courage changed that feeling to another of admiring awe; a man so defiant of the angry heavens might do anything. And so with the others; they hated Gourlay, but his bravery was a fact of nature which they could not disre- gard; they knew thi'mselves smaller and said nothing for a while. Tam Brodie, the most brutal among them, [S4] CHAPTER SIX was the first to recover. Even lie did not try to belittle at once, but he felt the subtle discomfort of the situa- tion, and relieved it by bringing the conversation back to its usual channel. " That was at the boy's birth, Mr. Coe? " said he " Ou, aye, just the laddie. It was a' richt when the lassie came. It was Doctor Dandy broeht her hame for Munn was deid by that time, and Dandy had his place " " What will Gourlay be going to make of him? " the Provost asked. "A doctor or a minister or wha-at" " " Deil a foar of that," said Brodic; " he'll take him into the business! It's a' that he's fit for. He's an in- fernal dui:, ., just his father owre again, and the Dominie thrashes him remorseless! I hear my own weans speaking o't. On, it seems he's just a perfect numbskull!" "Ye couldn't e.xpect ainything else from a son of dourlay," said the Provost. Conversation languished. Some fillip was needed to bring it to an easy flow, and the simultaneous scrape of their feet turning round thowed the direction of their thoughts. "A dram would be very acceptable now," murmured bandy Toddle, rubbing his chin. '' Ou, we wouldna be the waur o't," said Tarn Wylie. We would all be the better of a little drope " smirked the Deacon. ' And they made for the Red Lion for the matutinal dram. fM] vn John Gourlay, the younger, was late for school, in spite of the nervous trot he fell into when he shrank from the bodies' hard stare at hira. There was nothing unusual about that; he was late for school every other day. To him it was a howling wilderness where he played a most appropriate role. If his father was not about he would hang round his mother till the last moment, rather than be off to old " Bleach-the-boys "—as the master had been christened by his scholars. " Mother, I have a pain in my held," he would whimper, and she would condole with him and tell him she would keep him at home with her — were it not for dread of her husband. She was quite sure he was ainything but strong, poor boy, and that the schooling was bad for him; for it was really remarkable how quickly the pain went if he was allowed to stay at home; why, he got bet- ter just directly! It was not often she dared to keep him from school, however, and if she did, she had to hide him from his father. On school mornings the boy shrank from going out with a shrinking that was almost physical. When he stole through the Green Gate with his bag slithering at his hip (not braced between the shoulders like a bir- kie scholar's) he used to feel ruefully that he was in for it now — and the Lord alone knew what he would have to put up with ere he came home! And he always had [56] CHAPTER SEVEN the feeling of a f icud slave when he passed the gate on his return, never failing to note with delight the clean smell of the yard after the stuffiness of school, sucking It m through glad nostrils, and thinking to himself, " Oh, crickey, it's fine to be home! " On Friday nights, in particular, he used to feel so happy that, becoming arrogant, he would try his liand at buUymg Jock Gil- mour in imitation of his father. John's dislike of school, and fear of its trampling bravoes, attached him peculiarly to the House with the Green Shut- ters; there was his doting mother, and she gave iiim stories to read, and the place was so big that it was easy to avoid his father and have great times with the rabbits and the doos. He was as proud of the sonsy house as Gourlay himself, if for a different reason, and lie used to boast of it to his comrades. And he never left it, then or after, without a foreboding. As he crept along the School Road with a rueful face, he was alone, for Janet, who was cleverer than he, was always earlier at school. The absence of children in the sunny street lent to his depression. He felt for- lorn; if there had been a chattering crowd marching along, he would have been much more at his ease. Quite recently the school had been fitted up with var- nished desks, and John, who inherited his mother's ner- vous senses with his father's lack of wit, was always intensely alive to the smell of the desks the moment he went in; and as his heart always sank when he went m, the smell became associated in his mind with that sinking of the heart,-to feel it, no matter where, filled him with uneasiness. As he stole past the joiner's on that sunny morning, when wood was resinous and [57 J THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS pungent of odour, ho was suddenly conscious of a var- nishy smell, and felt a misgiving without knowing why. It was years after, in Edinburgh, ere he knew the reason; he found that he never went past an up- holsterer's shop, on a hot day in spring, without being conscious of a vague depression, and feeling like a boy slinking into school. In spite of his forebodings nothing more untoward befell him that morning than a cut over the cowering shoulders for being lutf, as he crept to the bottom of his class. He reached " leave," the ten minutes' run at twelve o'clock, without misadventure. Perhaps it was this unwonted good fortune that made him boastful, when he crouched near the pump among his cronies, sitting on his hunkers with his back to the wall. Half a dozen boys nere about him, and Swipey Broon was in front, making mud pellets in a trickle from the pump. He began talking of the new range. "Yah! Auld GemmeH needn't have let welp at me for being late this morning," he spluttered big-eyed, nodding his head in aggrieved and solemn protest. " It wasna my faut! We're getting in a grand new range, and the whole of the kitchen fireplace has been gutted out to make room f or't, and my mother couldna get my breakfast in time this morning, because, ye see, she had to boil everything in the parlour — and here, when she gaed ben the house, the parlour fire was out! " It's to be a splendid range, the new one," he went on, with a conceited jerk of the head. '• Peter Riney's bringin'd from Skeighan in the afternune. My father says there winna be its equal in the parish! " The faces of the boys lowered uncomfortably. They [68] CHAPTER SEVEN prick hi3 conceit »-,tl. a quick rejoinder. It is only grown-up8 who can be ironical; physical violence is the thTt 7"1:- I' '''' -arcei; /one far enough o that yet so they lowered in uncomfortable silencf went In "I? r^ T """^^ "P "' "" ?>"<=«/' he er he must I ""^ l"'^"' **""« <^''^^«" the build- er he must have everything of the best! Mother says It 1 all be mine some day. I'll have the fine times when I leave the schule,-and that winna be long now for 'm t Xinf tf 'k '"• "" ""''' " ""'^ '""Ser th^an I need I-U Lh «f *':t'""^'»''««' ""'1 then I'll have the times; 1 11 dash about the country in a gig wi' two dogs wal lopping ahin'. I'll have the great life o't." n..,/ tv" fv."' ^^"''P'^y ^'■'"'n' «"'! planted a gob of mud right m the middle of his brow ';Hoh! hoh! hoh!" yelled the others. They hailed Sng "^^ "" "■^^- '' '■'' ""-' °- « retort to his bumping h, head against the wall behind him. The S ''"';' "'""^ *° '"' •"■"-• ""J he bru.,hed i angrily aside. The laughter of the others ad.ied to h s wrdth against Swipey. "What are you after? " he bawle.l. « Don't try your IgWer! ^'' '"'^^^ ^^°''"- ''^^' ' <=-"^ ''"' y-" In a twinkling Swipey's jacket was off and he was ot3;"t!"' '' ''"""' ''""'""^ ^"""••"^ t° -- [59] '< M THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " G'way, man," said John, his taco as white as the wall; " g'way, man! Don't have me getting up to ye, or I'll knock the fleas out of your duds! " Now the fathei- of Swipey — so called because he al- ways swiped when batting at rounders — the father of Swipey was the rag and bone merchant of Barbie, and it was said (with what degree of truth I know not) that his home was verminous in consequence. John's taunt was calculated, therefore, to sting him to the quick. The scion of the Broons, fired for the honour of his house, drove straight at the mouth of the insulter. But John jouked to the side, and Swipey skinned his knuckles on the wall. For a moment he rocked to and fro, doubled up in pain, crying " Ooh! " with a rueful face, and squeezing his hand between his thighs to dull its sharper agonies. Then, with redoubled wrath bold Swipey hurled him at tbe foe. He grabbed Gourlay's head and, shoeing it down between his knees, proceeded to pummel his bent back, while John bellowed angrily (from between Swipey 's legs), " Let me up, see! " Swipey let him up. John came at him with whirling arms, but Swipey jouked and gave him one on the mouth that split his lip. In another moment Gourlay was grovelling on his hands and knees, and triumphant Swipey, astride his back, was bellowing "Hurroo!" — Swipey's father was an Irishman. " Let him up, Broon! " cried Peter Wylie. " Let him up, and meet each other square! " " Oh, I'll let him up," cried Swipey and leapt to his feet with magnificent pride. He danced round Gourlay with his fists sawing the air. " I could fight ten of him! [GO] CHAPTER SEVEN Come on, Ooiirlay! " lie cried, " and I'll poultice the road wi' your brose." John rose, glaring. But when Swipcy rushed ho turned and flc<l. The boys run into the middle of the street, pointing nflor the coward and shouting, " Yeh! Ych! Yeh! " with the infinite cnul derision of boyhood. "Y'eh! Yeh! Y'eh!" the cries of .xccration and con- tempt pursued him as he ran. Ere he had gone a hundred yards he heard the shrill whistle with which Mr. Gemmcll summoned his schol- ars from their play. [61] iiN VIII I i tl ''I All the children had gone into school. The street was lonely in the sudden stillness. The joiner slanted across the road, brushing shavings and sawdust from his white apron. There was no other sign of life in the sunshine. Only from the sniiddy, far away, came at times the tink of an anvil. John crept on up the street, keeping close to the wall. It seemed unnatural being there at that hour; every- thing had a quiet unfamiliar look. The white walls of the houses reproached the truant with their silent faces. A strong smell of wall flowers oozed through the hot air. John thought it a lonely smell and ran to get away. " Johnny dear, what's wrong wi' ye? " cried his mother, when he stole in through the scullery at last. "Are ye ill, dear? " " I wanted to come hame," he said. It was no de- fence; it was the sad and simple expression of his wish. " What for, my sweet? " " I hate the school," he said, bitterly; " I aye want to be at hame." His mother saw his cut mouth. " Johnny," she cried in concern, " what's the matter with your lip, dear ? Has ainybody been meddling ye ? " [62 1 CHAPTER EIGHT " It was Swipey Broon," he eaid. " Did ever a body hear? " she cried. " Things have come to a fine pass when decent weans canna go to the school without a whccn rag-folk yoking on them! But what can a body ottle? Scotland's not what it used to be I It's owrcrun wi' the dirty Eerish! " In her anger she did not see the sloppy dishclout on the scullery chair, on which she sank exhausted by her rage. " Oh, but I let him have it," swaggered John. " I threatened to knock the (leas off him. The other boys were on his side, or I would have walloped him." "Atweel, they would a' be on his side," she cried. " But it's juist envy, Johnny. Never mind, dear; you'll soon be left the school, and there's not wan of them has the business that you have waiting ready to step intil." " Mother," he pleaded, " let me bide here for the rest o' the day! " " Oh, but your father, Johnny? If he saw ye! " " If you gie me some o' your novelles to look at, I'll go up to the garret and hide, and ye can ask Jenny no to tell." ' She gave him a hunk of nuncheon and a bundle of her novelettes, and he stole up to an empty garret and squatted on the bare boards. The sun streamed through the skylight window and. lay, an oblong patch, in the centre of the floor. John noted the head of a nail that stuck gleaming up. He could hear the pigeons rooketty- eootng on the roof, and every now and then a slithering sound, as they lost their footing on the slates and went sliding downward to the rones. But for that, all was still, uncannily still. Once a zinc pail clanked in the [63] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS yard, and he sturtud ttilli fear, wondering if that was hia faitherl If young (iourlay had been the right kind of a boy ho would have been in his glory, witli books to read and a garret to road them in. For to snuggle close beneath the slates is as dear to the boy as the bard, if somewhat diverse their reasons for seclusion. Your garret is the true kingdom of the poet, neighbouring the stars; side- windows tether him to earth, but a skylight looks to the heavens. (That is why so many poets live in garrets, no doubt.) But it is.thc secrecy of a garret for him and his books that a boy loves; there he is lord of his imagina- tion; there, when the impertinent world is hidden from his view, he rides with great Turpin at night beneath the glimmer of the moon. What boy of sense would road about Turpin in a mere respectable parlour? A hayloft's the thing, where you can hide in a dusty cor- ner, and watch through a chink the baffled minions of Bow Street, and hear Black Bess— good jade!— stamp- ing in her secret stall, and be ready to descend when a friendly ostler cries, " Jericho! " But if there is no hay- loft at hand a mere garret will do very well. And so John should have been in his glory, — as indeed for a while he was. But he shewed his difference from the right kind of a boy by becoming lonely. He had in- herited from his mother a silly kind of interest in silly books, but to him reading was a painful process, and he could never remember the plot. flTint he liked best (though he rmiM ni.f 1inv!< toM you about it) was a vivid physical piftmp. When the pnffiui: stonm of Black Bess's nostrils oli'iiied awny from the moonlit pool, and the white face of the dead man >tarod at Turpin through [64] CHAPTER EIGHT the water, John saw it and shivored, staring big-eyed at the Htarinj? horror. Up was alive to it all; he heard the "cep of the water tliroujfh the mare's lips, and its hol- low Klnjf as it wrtit down, and the creak of the saddle beneath 'I'liipin's hip; 1„. saw the smear of sweat roiigh- eniMK the hair oi, her slanting neck, and the great steam- mg breath .-he bleu- out when »liu rested from drinking and then that awful faee glaring from the pool.— Per- haps he wa-s not m far from being the right kind of boy, after all, smte that was the stuff that he liked.-IIo wishe.l he had some Turpin with him now, for his mother 8 periodicals were all about men with impossibly broad shoulders and impossibly curved waists who asked Angelina if she loved them. Once, it is true, a some- what too florid sentence touched him on the visual nerve: " Through a chink in the Venetian blind a long pencil of yellow light pierced the beautiful dim- ness of the room and pointed straight to the da:r*y bronze slipper peeping from under Angelina's gown; it became a slipper of vivid gold amid the gloom." John saw that and brightened, but the next moment they began to talk about love and lie was at sea immediately. " Dagon them and their love! " quoth he. To him, indeed, reading was never more than a means of escape from something else; he never thought of a book so long as there were things to see. Some things were different from others, it is true. Things of the outer worid, where he swaggered among his fellows and was thrashed, or bungled his lessons and was thrashed again, imprinted themselves vividly on his mind, and he hated the impressions. When Swipey Broon was hot the sweat pores always glistened distinctly on the end [65] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS of hilt mottled none — .lolin, as ho thoiif^ht angrily of Mwiiiey this afterrKKin, mw the glistening sweat pore* before hini and wanted to bash tlicm. The vamishy BtnoU of the duskn, the Hrnell of the wullflowerK at Mra. Manzic'H on the way to school, the smoU of the school itself— to all these ho was morbidly alive, and ho loathed them. Hut ho loved the impressions of his home. His mind was full of perceptions of which he was uncon- scious, till he found one of them recorded in a book, and that was the book for him. The curious physical always drew his mind to hate it or to love. In summer he would crawl ihto the bottom of an old hedge, among the black mould and the withered sticks, and watch a red-ended beetle creep slowly up a bit of woo<l till near the top, and fall suddenly down, and creep patiently again,— this he would watch with curious interest and remember always. "Johnny," said his mother once, " what do you brcenge into the bushes to watch those nasty things for? " " They're queer," he said musingly. Even if he was a little didl wi' the book, she was sure he would come to something, for, eh, he was such a no- ticing boy. But there was nothing to touch him in " The Wooing of Angeline "; he was moving in an alien world. It was a complicated plot, and, some of the numbers being lost, he was not sharp enough to catch the idea of the story. He read slowly and without interest. The sounds of the outer world reached him in his loneliness and annoyed him, because, while wondering what they were, he dared not look out to see. He heard the rattle of wheels entering the big yard; that would be Peter Biney back [66] CIIAPTEK EIGHT from SkeiKlian with the ratine. Once ho heard the birr of hi8 father'H voice in the h.hhy and his mother 8|H'ak- ing in nhrill protcHt, an<l then— oh, horn.r!— his father came up the stair. Woul.l he «... •■ into the Rarrcf' John, lying on his h.fl side, fell ;,i,- .|,iickei„ ,| heart itif ['"kH\ ■ II 'ji r loii ■■,.1- St. ; lu big •ho n's his 'l(i«n the til open a thuil against tlie lH)arrls, and he frighted eyes from the bottoi heavy step passed and went in open mouth was dry, and liis back. The heavy steps came haeii k. tli.. ijii,iiii -. "Whaur's my gimlet?" yelled hi. I', il.e- stair. "Oh, I l.ist the corkscrew, and iu„k ,1 „ ,.„ „ bott e, cried his m.ither, wearily. " Jlerc it is, man, in the kitchen drawer." " Iltth! " his father barked, and he knew he was infer- nal angry. If he should come in! But he went tramping down the stair, and .John, after w-aiting till his pulses were stilled, resumed his reading. He heard the masons in the kitchen, busy with the range,and hewould have liked fine to watch them.but he dared not go down till after four. It was lonely up here by himself. A hot wind ha<l sprung up, and it crooned through the keyhole drearily; " oo-woo-oo," it cried and the sound drenched him in a vague depression! The splotch of yellow light had shifted round to the fireplace; Janet had kindled a fire there last winter, and the ashes had never been removed, and now the light lay, yellow and vivid, on a red clinker of coal, and a charred piece of stick. A piece of glossy white paper had been flung in the untidv grate, and in the hollow [67] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTKUy curve of it a thin silt of black dust had gathered — tbi^ light shewed it plainly. All these things the boy marked and was subtly aware of their unpleasantness. He was forced to rc^ad to escape the sense of llicm. But it was wonis, words, words that he read; tlie sub- stance mattered not at all. His head loaned heavy on his left hand and his nu)uth hung open, as his eye trav- elled dreamily along the lines. He succeeded in liyj^ notizing his brain at last, by the mere process of staring at the |)age. At last ho heard Janet in the lobby. That meant thai school was over. He crept down the stair. " You were playing thit truant," sai<l Janet, and she nodded her head in accusation. " I've a good mind tn- tcll my faithcr." " If ye wud — " he said, and shook his fist at her threateningly. She shrank away fro-n him. They went into the kitchen together. The range liad been successfully installed, and Mr. Gourlay was sliewing it to Grant of Ivoranogie, the fore- most farmer of the shire. Mrs. Gourlay, standing by the kitchen table, viewed her new possession with a faded simper of approval. She was pleased that ilr. Grant should see the grand new thing that they had gotten. She listened to the talk of the men with a faint smile about her weary lips, her eyes upon the sonsy range. " Dod, it's a handsome piece of furniture," said Lor- anogie. " How did ye get it brought here, Mr. Gour- lay? " " I went to Glasgow ami ordered it special. It came to Skeighan by the train, and my own beasts brought [68] CHAPTER EIGHT it owre. That fender's a feature," ho addeJ, compla- cently; " it's onusual \vi' a range." The massive fonder ran from end to end of the fire- place, projecting a little in front; its rim, a square bar of heavy steel, witl. bright sharp edges. " And that poker, too; man, there's a history wi' that. I made a point of tlie making o't. He was an ill-bred little whalj), the bodie in Glasgow. I happened to say till um I would like a poker-heid just tlie same size as the run of the fender! ' What d'ye want wi' a lieavy- heided poker? ' says he; ' a' ye need's a bit sma' thing to rype the ribs wi'.' ' Is that so? ' says I. ' How do you ken what / want? ' I made short work o' him! The poker-heid's the identical size o' the rim; I had it made to fit!" Loranogie thought it a silly thing of Gourlay to con- cern hiiiiseir about a poker. But that wa.s just like him, of course. The moment the body in Glasgow opposed his whim, Gourlay, he knew, would make a point o't. The grain merchant took the bar of heavy metal in his hand. " Dod, it's an awful weapon," he said, mean- ing to be jocose. " You could murder a man wi't." " Deed you could," said Loranogie; " you could kill him wi' the one lick." The ciders, engaged with more important matters, paid no attention to the children, who had pushed be- tween them to the front and were looking up at their faces, as they talked, witli curious watching eyes. John, with his instinct to notice things, took the poker up when his father laid it down, to see if it was really the size of the rim. It was too heavy for him to raise by the handle; he had to lift it by the middle. Janet was [ ^'^ i THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTEE8 at his elbow, watching him. " You could kill a nian with that," he told her, importantly, though she had heard it for herself. Janet stared and shuddered. Then the boy laid the poker-head along the rim, fitting edge to edge with a nice precision. " Mother," he cried, turning towards her in his in- terest, " Mother, look here! It's exactly the same size! " " Put it down, sir," said his father with a grim smile at Loranogie. " You'll be killing folk next." I '0 ] IX "Are ye packit, Peter? " said Gourlay. " Yes, air," said Peter Riney, running round to the other side of a cart, to fasten a horse's bellyband to tlie shaft. " Yes, sir, we're a' ready." " Have the carriers a big load? " "Andy lias just a wheen parcels, but Elshie's as fu' as he can baud. iVnd there's a gey pickle stuff waiting at the Cross." The hot wind of yesterday had brought lightning through the night, and this morning there was the gen- tle drizzl^e that sometimes follows a heavy thunderstorm. Hints ot' the further blue shewed themselves in a lofty sky of delicate and drifting grey. The blackbirds and thrushes welcomed the cooler air with a gush of musical piping, as if the liquid tendemes.s of the morning had actually got into their throats and made them softer. " You had better anoove away then," said Ciourlay. " Donnerton's five mile ayont Pleckie, and by the time you deliver the meal there, and load the ironwork, it'll be late ere you get back. Snoove away, Peter; snoove away! " Peter shuffled uneasily, and his i)ale blue eyes blinked at Oourlay from beneath llieir grizzled crow nests of red hair. ".Vre wc a' to start thegithcr, sir? " he hesitated. " R'yi' niean — il'yu mean the carriiTS, too'' " [71] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS "Atweel, Peter! " suit! Ciourlay. " What for no? " Peter took a great old watch, with a yellow case, from his fob, and, " It wants a while o' aicht, sir," he volun- teered. "Aye, man, Peter, and what of that? " said Gourlay. There was almost a twinkle in his eye. Peter Uiney was the only human being with whom he was ever really at his case. It is only when a mind feels secure in itself that it can laugh unconcernedly at others. Peter was so simple that in his presence Oourlay felt secure; and he used to banteir him. " The folk at the Cross winna expect the carriers till aicht, sir," said Peter, " and I doubt their stuff won't be ready." "Aye, man, Peter! " Gourlay joked lazily, as if Peter was a little boy. "Aye, man, Peter! You think the folk at the Cross winna be prepared? " " No, sir," said Peter, opening liis eyes very solemnly, " they winna be prepared." "It'll do them good to hurry a little for once," growled Gourlay, humour yielding to spite at the thought of his enemies. " It'll do them „ood to hurry a little for once! Be off, the lot of ye! " After ordering his carriers to start, to back down and postpone their departure, just to suit the convenience of his neighbours, would deropate from his o .n im- portance. His men might think he was afraid of Barbie. He strolled out to the big gate and watched his teams going down the brae. There were only four carts tiiis morning because the two that had gone to Feehans vesterdav with the cheese CHAPTER NINE would not be back till the afternoon; and another had Sfl r'? ""V" -^"^■''"•■■•"■heeze, to bring slates for the flesher's ne^v house. Of the four that went down were off to Fleck.e with meal, and Gourlay had started If, r Tt"" T'V'"-'^ "■'-■™ t" "^"n^ back the iron- work which Xouplandmuir needed for his new improve- ments 1 hough the Templar had reformed greatly smce he marned his birkie wife, he was still fat from laving his place m proper order, and he had often to maninr" "°v^'"\'"^ *'"' ""^^^'"^ "^ ^""f -^ich ^ man m Ins position should have had horses of his own to As Gourlay stood at his gate he pondered with heavy b r"n"r T "'-" •"■, ■'">^"t charge Templandmuir f^^ bringing the ironwork from Fleckie. He deci.led to be spent m taking his own meal to Donnerton. In that oaT,lH"7;"\°"'-'"' ""'"' ?»''•'•>-"■'"'■'• was to make each side of his business help the other aecmin'l' 'y!"°y ''"'''^"*' '"' '''^' "^'^ Tcmplandmuir's account, his hps worked in and out. to assiCt the slow riUrL'f t";™"-,- V" '-'-' ""™«-' between .Ir fixed ' '"■ ''^''* ■""">^^'' *" t"™ i"«'"-J a^ he fixed them abstractedly on a stone in the middle of the rand. ,T,s head was tilte.l that he mi-^ht keep hi. -yes upon the stone; and eve.y now an.l t hen as e mi^ed he rubbed his chin .lowly between e'tl.b Hml fingers of his left hand. Kntirelv given up to :e;t rSr "^/"'"•"-"--•^ ~t i ^z t see the figure advancing „p the street At last the scrunch of a boot on the wet road struck THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS his ear. He tiirm'd witli liis best glower on the man who was approaching; more of the " Wha-the-bleezes- are-you? " look than ever in his eyes — because he had been caught unawares. The stranger wor" a light yellow overcoat, and he had been walking a long time in the rain, apparently, for the shoulders of the coat were quite black with the wet. these black patches showing in strong contrast with the dryer, theiefore yellower, front of it. ("out and jacket were both hanging slightly open, and between was seen the slight bidge of a dirty white waistcoat. 'IMic lu'w- comer's trousers were turned high at the bottom, aiul the muddy spats he wore looked big and ungainly in consequence. Jn his appearance there was an air of dirty and pretentious well-to-do-ness. It was not shabby gentility. It was like the gross attempt at dress of your well-to-do publican who looks down on his soiled white waistcoat with complacent and approv- • tug eye. " It's a tine morning, Mr. (Jourlay! " simpered the stranger. His air was that of a forward tenant who thinks it a great i liing to pass remarks on the weather with his laird. Gourlay cast a look at the dropping heavens. " Is that ynur opinion? " said he. " I fail to see't mysell." It was not in Gourlay to see the beauty of that grey wet dawn. A fine morning to him was one that burnt the back of your neck. The stranger laughed; a little deprecating giggle. " I meant it was fine weather for the fields," he ex- plained. He had meant nothing of the kind, of course; [74] CHAPTER NINE he had merely been talking at random in his wish to be civil to that important man, John (Jourlay "Imphm," he pondered, looking round on the weather with a wise air; " Imphm; it's fine weather for the fields! " " Are you a farmer then? " Gourlay nipped him. with ms eye on the white waistcoat. " Oh— oh, Mr. Gourlay! A fanner, no. Hi— hi' I'm not a farmer. I daresay, now, you have no mind of me ' " No, said Gourlay, regarding him very gravely and steadily with his dark eyes. " I oannot sav, .sir, that f have the pleasure of remembering tjou! " '' Man, I'm a son of aiiid .Tohn Wilson of Brigabee' " Oh, auld WiLson, the mole-catcher!" .,aid con- temptuous Gourlay. " Whnfs this they christened him noH-.-- Toddling Johnnie,' was it noat? " Wilson coloured. But he sniggered to gloss over the awkwardness of the remark. A coua^d always sniggers w-hen insulted, pretending that the insult is onlv u Le of his opponent, and therefore to bo laughed aside Ho he escapes the quarrel which he fears a show of displeas- ure might provoke. tin^Hi; ''""'f'' !!"""' '"'' ""* " '""^y -"on. it *a« not oSay '""'"^ '''' """" ^-bmission to He had come back after an absence of fifteen years, with a good deal of money in his pocket, and he had a tond desire that he. the son of the mole-catcher, should f.nnoZ/'™^'*"'" "^ ^'' P'-™P''"*y f™"' the most important man in the locality. If Gourlav had said with so emn and fat-lipped approval, " Man,I'm g J l' see that you have done so well! " he would have swelled f78] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS with gratified pride. For it is often the favourable esti- mate of their own little village — " What they'll think of me at home " — that matters most to Scotsmen who go out to make their way in the world. No doubt that is why 80 many uf hem go home and cut a dash when they have inafi rheir fortunes; they want the cronies of their youtli .;> see the big men they have become. Wilson was ii >c exempt from that weakness. As far back as he remembered Oourlay had been the big man of Barbie; as a boy he had viewed him with admiring awe; to be received by him now, as one of the well-to-do, were a sweet recognition of his greatness. It was a fawning desire for that recognition that caused his smirking approacli to the grain merchant. So strong was the de- sire that, though he coloured and felt awkward at the contemptuous reference to his father, he sniggered and went on talking, as if nothing untoward had been said. He was one of the band impossible to snub, not because they are endowed with superior moral courage, but be- cause their easy self-importance is so great, that an in- sult rarely pierces it enough to divert them from their purpose. They walk through life wrapped comfort- ably round in the wool of thnir own conceit. Oourlay, though a dull man — perhaps because he was a dull man — suspected insult in a moment. But it rarely entered Wilson's brain (though ho was cleverer than most) that the world could find anything to scoff at in such a fine fellow as .Tames Wilson. .\ less ironic brute than Oour- lay would never have pierced the thickness of liis hide. It was because Oourlay succeeded in piercing it that morning, that Wilson hated him for ever — with a hate the more bitter because he was rebuffed so seldom. [70] CUAl'TEU NINE "Is business l>iisk?" he asked, irropressible. Business! Heavens, did ye hear hinnalking? What did loddliiifc' JolimiyV son kiiuu- about business!- What was the world coming to!- To liear him setting up his taee theiv, and asking tbo best merchant in the town «-hether business was briek! It was liigh time to put him in his place, the conceited upstart, shoving himself forward I .e an equal! For it was the assumption of equality implied by Wil- son s manner that offended tiourlay-as if mole-'eateh- ers son and monoi,..li»t were discussing, on equal terms, matters of interest to them both. " Business! " he said gravely. " Well. I'm uot well acquainted with your line, but I believe mole traps are cheap_,f yo have any iilea of taking up the „ald trade' " Wilsons eyes flickere.l over liim, hurl ami dubious His mouth opened-then shut-then he .lecided to speak after all. " Oh. 1 was thinking Barbie would be very quiet, said he, "compared wi' places where they have the railway! I was thinking it would need st-iring up a bit." * "Oh, yc was thinking that, was yel' " birred Gourlay with a stupid man's repetition of bis jibe. " Well- I believe there's a grand opening in the moleskin line.'so there s a chance for ye! My quarrymen wear out their breeks in no time! " Wilson's face, which had .swelle.1 with red shame went a dead white. " (Jood-morning! " he said, and started rapidly away with a vicious dig of his stick upon the wet road. ' "Goo-ood mor-r-ning. sen!" (Jourlay birred after mm; Goo-ood mor-r-ning, serr! " He felt he had [77] i THE HOUSE WITH THE OREEN SHUTTERS been bright this morning. He had put the brsnkit on WiUon! Wilson was as furious at himself as at Oourlay. Why the devil had he said " Oood morning? " It had Hlipped out of him unawares, and Oourlay had taken it up with an ironic birr that rang in his ears now, poison- ing his blood. He felt equal in fancy to a thousand (iourlays now — so strong was he in wrath against him. He had gone forward to pass pleasant remarks about the weather, and why should he noat? — he was no disgrace to Barbie, but a credit rather. It was not every work- ing man's son that came back with Ave hundred in the bank. And here Gourlay had treated him like a doag! Ah, well, he would maybe be upsides with Gourlay yet, 80 he might! [78] PrlvoB™ ' ""'''* "^ furniture I never mwI " said the " Whose is it? " said Brodic. Tnln '■'■!;'""' f """' '"■""^- " *'''' th" H^ad "f the rown ttith eyebrows ,n Hir. " It beloangg to that fel- ow VV,l«on, doan't ye know? „,,, , ,„„ « ^^.^ ^« ^^^ the mowd.e-muu of Brig„beo. It seems we're to have h>m for a neighbour, or all's bye wi't. 1 declare I doan't know what this world's corning to' " "Alan, Provost," said Brodie. "d'ye tell „,e tha-at? irn^h p r' "^ *'■'='''''' f"-- "'« '""t ten days-ray brother Rab's dead and won away, as I daresay you have 1T^7°. ;/'t' r '""'* "" ^''-'"'' y «<»' I'm scarcely abreast the latest intelligence. What's Wilson doing % VuT^t','"" •""' •"■"" " P-'^broker in Embro.'' Woat he! It e whhpend indeed, that he left Briea- bee to go and help in a pawmbroker's. but it seems he married an Aberdeen lass and sattled there after awhile the manager of a store, I have been given to underst.: and. He has taken oald Rab Jamieson's barn at the to telp A '^ ?:°r-''" "'"" P-'T'-^ » beats even m to tell! And that's his furniture » "I declare! " said the astonished Brodie. "He's a smart-looking boy that. Will that be a son of his' " He pointed to a sharp-faced urchin of twelve who waa busy canying chairs round the comer of the bam to [79] Miotocorr icsoiution test chart (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) KH^I^ ^ /APPLIED IIVMGE Ine ^B^ 1653 East Main Street =>,.S Rochester, N«w York U609 USA '■^ (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^S (716) 2M - 59S9 - Fa> THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS the tiiiy house where Wilson meant to live. He was a red-haired boy with an upturned nose, dressed in shirt and kniekerboekers only. The cross of his braces came comically near his neck — so short was the space of shirt between the top line of his breeelies and his shoulders. His knickers were open at the knee, and the black stock- ings below them were wrinkled slackly down his thin legs, being tied loosely above the calf with dirty white strips of cloth instead of garters. He had no cap, and it was seen that his hair had a " cow-lick " in front; it slanted up from his brow, that is, in a sleek kind of tuft. There was a violent squint in one of his sharp grey eyes, so that it seemed to flash at the world across the bridge of his nose. He was so eager at his work that his clumsy-looking boots — they only looked clumsy he- cause the legs they were stuck to were so thin — skidded on the cobbles as he whipped round the barn with a chair inverted on his poll. When he came back for another chair, he sometimes wheepled a tune of his own making, in shrill disconnected jerks, and sometimes wiped his nose on his sleeve. And the bodies watched him. " Faith, he's keen," said the Provost. " But what on earth has Wilson ta'en auld Jamieson's house and bam for? They have stude empty since I kenna whan," quoth Alexander Toddle, forgetting his English in surprise. " They say be means to start a business! He's made some bawbees in Aiberdeen, they're telling me, and he thinks he'll set Barbie in a lowe wi't." " Ou, he means to work a perfect revolution," said Johnny Coe. [80] CHAPTER TEN " In Barbie! " uriod astouuilcd Tod('.l«. " In Barbie u'en't," said tlio Provost. " It would take a heap to revolutioni^u hit," said the baker, the ironic man. " Tlierc's a chance in that lioose," Brodie burst out, Ignoring the baker's jibe. " Dod, there's a chance, sirs. 1 wonder it never occurred to nie before." " Are ye tliinking ye have missed a gude thing? " grinned the Deacon. But Brodie's lips were working in the tliroes of com- mercial speculation, and he stared, heedless of tlie jibe. So Johnny Coe took up his sapient parable. " Atweel," said he, " there's a chance, llr. Brodie. Tliat road round to tlic back's a handy thing. You could take a horse and cart brawly througli an opening like that. And there's a gey bit ground at the back, too, when a body comes to think o't." "What line's he meaning to purshoo? " queried Brodie, whose mind, quickened by the chance he saw at No. 1, The Cross, was hot on the hunt of its possi- bilities. ^^ "He's been very close about that," said the Provost. X asked Johnny Gibson— it was him had the selling o't —but he couldn't give me ainy satisfaction. All he could say was that Wilson had bought it and paid it. But, losh!' said I, «he maun V lat peep what he wanted the place for! ' But na; it seems he was owre auld-farrant for the like of that. ' We'll let the folk wonder for a while, Mr. Gibson,' he had said. ' The less we tell them, the keener they'll be to ken; and they'll I'm'u tilP "^'"' """^'"^ ^^ 'P'*"°^ ""' '"'°*''"'' ^^"t [81] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " Cunning! " said Brodie, breatliing the word low in expressive admiration. " Demned cute! " said Sandy Toddle. " Very thmart! " said the Deacon. " But the place has been falling down since ever I have mind o't," said Sandy Toddle. "He's a very clever man if he makes anything out of that." " Well, well," said the Provost, " we'll soon tee what he's meaning to be at. Now that his furniture's in, he surely canna keep us in the dark much loanger! " Their curiosity was soon appeased. Within a week they were privileged to read the notice here appended: "Mr. James Wilson begs to announce to the inhabitants of Barbie and surrounding neighbourhood that he has taken these commodious premises, No. 1, The Cross, which he intends to open shortly as a Grocery, Ironmongery, and General Provision Store. J. W. is apprised that such an Emporium has long been a felt want in the locality. To meet this want is J. W.'s inten- tion. He will try to do so, not by making large proBts on a small business, but by making small profits on a large business. Indeed, owing to his long acquaintance with the trade Mr. Wilson will be able to supply all commodities at a very little over cost price. For J. W. will ust those improved methods of business which have been confined hitherto to the larger centres of population. At his Emporium you will be able, as the saying goes, to buy everything from a needle to an anchor. Moreover, to meet the convenience of his customers, J. W. will deliver goods at your own doors, distributing them with his own carts either in the town of Barbie or at any convenient distance from the same. Being a native of the district, his business hopes to secure a due share of your esteemed patron- age. Thanking you, in anticipation, for the favour of an early visit, Believe me, Ladies and Gentlemen, "Yours faithfully, "Jamss Wn,80K." [82] CHAPTER TEN Such was the poster with which " Barbie and sur- rounding neighbourhood" were besprinkled wiaiin a weel- of "J. w.'s " appeanmoe on the scene. He was known as "J. W." ever after. To be known by your initials 18 sometimes a mark of affection, and sometLes a mark of disrespect. It was not a mark of affection in the case of our " J. W." When Donald Scott slapped him on the back and cried " Hullo, J. W., how are the anchors selling? " Barbie had found a cue which it was not slow to make use of. Wilson oven received letters addressed to "J. W., Anchor Merchant, No. 1, The Cross." Ours is a nippy locality. But Wilson, cosy and cocky in his own good opinion was impervious to the chilly winds of scorn. His post- crs, m big blue letters, w ere on the smiddy door and on the sides of every brig within a circuit of five miles- they were pasted, in smaller red letters, on the gate- posts of every farm; and Hobin Tam, the bellman, handed them about from door to door. The folk could talk of nothing else. "Dod!" said the Provost when . read the bill " we've a new departure here! This is an unco splut- ter, as the oald sow said when she tumbled in the gutter." "Aye," said Sandy Toddle, "a fuff in the pan, Pm thinking. He promises owre muckle to last long: He lauchs owre loud to be merry at the end o't. For the loudest bummler's no the best bee, as my father, honest man, used to tell the minister." « "j^'i-sh. I'm no so sure o' that," said Tam Brodie. I foregathered wi' Wilson on Wednesday last, and I tell ye, sii-8, he's worth the watching. They'll need to stand [83] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS un a buikie that put thu brankti on him. He has tlio considering eye in his head — yon lang far-away glim- mer at a thing from out the end of the eyebrow. He turned it on mysell twa-thrce times, the cunning devil, trying to keek into me, to sec if lie could use me. And look at the chance he has! There's two stores in Barbie, to be sure; but Kinnikum's a dirty beast, and folk have a scunner at his goods, and t'atherwood's a dru'cken swine, and his place but sairly guided. That's a great stroke o' policy, too, promising to deliver folk's goods on their own doorstep to them. There's a whole jing- bang of out-iying clachans round Barbie that he'll get the trade of by n dodge like that. The like was never tried hereaway before. I wadna wonder but it works wonders." It did. It was partly policy and partly accident that brought Wilson back to Barbie. He had been managing a wealthy old merchant's store for a long time in Aber- deen, and he had been blithely looking forw'ird to the goodwill of it, when jink, at the old man's death, in stepped a nephew, and ousted the poo-oor fellow. He had bawled shrilly, but to no purpose; he had to be travelling. When he rose to greatness in Barbie it was whispered that the nephew discovered he was feathering his own nest, and that this was the reason of his sharp dismissal. But perhaps we should credit that report to Barbie's disposition rather than to Wilson's misde- meanour. Wilson might have set up for himself in the nippy northern town. But it is an instinct with men who have met with a rebuff in a place, to shake its dust from [84] CHAPTER TEN their ihoes, and be off to seek their fortunes in the larger world. We take a scunner at the place that has ill-used us. Wilson took a scunner at Aberdeen, and decided to leave it and look around him. Scotland was opening up, and there were bound to be heaps of chances for a man like him! "A man like me," was a frequent phrase of Wilson's retired and solitary speculation. "Aye," he said, emerging from one of his business reveries, " there's bound to be heaps o' chances for a man like me, if I only look about mc." He was " looking about him " in Glasgow when he foregathered with his cousin William— the borer he! After many " How are ye, Jims's " and mutual spierings over a " bit mouthful of yill "—so they phrased it, but that was a meiosis, for they drank iivc quarts— they fell to a serious discussion of the commercial possibilities of Scotland. The borer was of the opinion that the Braes of Barbie had a future yet, " for a' the gaffer was so keen on keeping his men in the dark about the coal." Now Wilson knew (as what Scotsman does not?) that in the middle-fifties coal-boring in Scotland was not the honourable profession that it now is. More than once, speculators procured lying reports that there were no minerals, and after landowners had been ruined by their abortive preliminary experiments, stepped iii, bought the land and boomed it. In one notorious ca.se a family, now great in the public eye, bribed a laird's own borers to conceal the truth, and then buying the Golconda from its impoverished owner, laid the basis of a vast fortune. D'ye mean— to tell— me, Weeiyum Wilson," said James, giving him his full name in the solemnity of the [85] THE 1IOIT8E WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS moment, " d'ye mean— to tell— me, sir "—here he sank his voice to a whisper — " that there's joukery-pawkery at work?" "A declare to God A div," said Weelyura with equal solemnity, and he nodded with alarmed sapience across his beer juff. " Yon believe there's plenty of coal up Barbie Valley, and that tliey're keepi-ig it dark in the meantime for some purpose of then- own? " " I do," said Weelyum. " God! " said James, gripping the table with both hands in his excitement, "God, if that's so, what a chance there's in Barbie! It has been a dead town for twenty year, and twenty to the end o't. A verra little would buy the hauf o't. But property 'uU rise in value like a puddock stool at dark, serr, if the pits come round it! It will that. If I was only sure o' your suspeecion, Weelyum, I'd invest every bawbee I have in't. You're going home the night, are ye not? " " I was just on my road to the station wher. I met ye," said Weelyum. " Send me a scrape of your pen to-morrow, man, if what you see on getting back keeps you still in the same mind o't. And directly I get your !> tier, I'll run down and look about me." The letter was encouraging, and Wilson went forth to spy the land, and initiate the plan of campaign. It was an important day for him. He entered on his feud with Gourlay, and bought Rab Jamieson's house and bam (with the field behind it) for a trifle. He had five hundred of his own, and he knew where more coult be had for the asking. [86] CHAPTER TEN Rab Jamieson's barn wiw a curious building to bo stranded in the midst of Barbie. In quaint villages and little towns of England you sometimes see a mellow red-tiled bam, with its rich yard, close upon the street; it seems to have been hemmed in by the houses round, while dozing, so that it could not escape with the fields fleeing from the town. Tliere it remains and gives i; ripeness to the i>lace, matching fitly with the great horse- chestnut yellowing before the door, and the old inn further down, mantled in its blood-red creepers. Rut that autumnal warmth and cosiness is rarely seen in the barer streets of the north. How Bab Jamieson's barn came to be stuck in Barbie nobody could tell. Tt wn-> n gaunt grey building with never a window, but a bole high in one corner for the sheaves, and a door low in another comer for auld Rab .Tamieson. There was no mill inside, and the place had not been used for years. But the roof was good, and the walls stout and thick, and Wilson soon got to work on his new possession. He had seen all that could be made of the place tlie moment he clapped an eye on it, and he knew that he had found a good thing, even if the pit> should never come near Barbie. The bole and door next the street were walled up, and a fine new door opened in the mid- dle, flanked on either side by a great window. The in- terior was fitted up with a couple of counters and a wooden floor; and above the new wood ceiling there was a long loft for a store room, lighted by skylights in the roof. Th-t loft above the rafters, thought the provident Wilson, will come in braw and handy for storing things, so it will. And there, hey presto! the transformation was achieved, and Wil- [87] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS aon't Emporium stood before you. It was crammed with merchandise. On the white flapping slant of a couple of awnings, one over each window, you might read in black letters, "JAMES \VILS(JN: EMPO- KIUM." The letters of " James Wilson " made a tri- umphal arch, to which " Emporium " was the base. It seemed symbolical. Now, the shops of Barbie (the drunken man's shop and the dirty man's shop always excepted, of course) had usually been low-browed little places with faded black enrolls above the door, on which you might read in dim g:lt lettets (or it might be, in white) "LicBNSD To Sbu Tea &■ Tobacco." " LicENS'D ' ' was on one corner of the ribboned scroll, "To Sbu Tea &" occupied the flowing arch above, with "Tobacco" in the other comer. When you mounted two steps and opened the door, a bell of some kind went " ping " in the interior, and an old woman in a mutch, with big specs slipping dowr her nose, would come up a step from a dim little room behind, and wiping her sunken mouth with her apron — she had just left her tea— would say, " What's your wuU the day, sir? " And if you said your " wnll " was tobacco, she would answer, " Ou, sir, I dinna sell ocht now but the tape and sweeties." And then you went away, sadly. With the exception of the dirty man's shop and the drunken man's shop, that kind of shop was the Barbie kind of shop. But Wilson changed all that. One side of the Emporium was crammed with pots, pans, pails, scythes, gardening implements, and saws, with a big barrel of paraffin partitioned off in a corner. The rafters [88] CHAPTER TEN on that tide were bristlinp nud hoary with bniahe* of all kinds dependent from the roof, go that the minister's wife (who was a six-footer) went off with a brush in her bonnet once. Behind the other counter were canisters in goodly rows, barrels of flour and bags of meal, and great yellow cheeses in the window. The rafters here were heavy with their wealth of hams, brown-skinned flitches of bacon interspersed with the white tight- corded home-cured-" Barbie's Best." as Wilson chris- tened it All along the back, in glass cases to keep them unsullied, were bales of cloth, layer on layer to the roof. It was a pleasure to go into the place, so big and bien was It, and to smell it on a frosty night set your teeth watering. There was always a big barrel of American apples just inside the door, and their homely fragrance wooed you from afar, the mellow savour Uing round you half a mile off. Barbie boys had despised the pro- vision trade, heretofore, as a mean and meagre occupa- tion, but now the imagination of each gallant youth was fired and radiant; he meant to be a grocer. Mrs. Wilson presided over the Emporium. Wilson had a treasure in his wife. She was Aberdeen boi n and bred, but her manner was the mi,= ler of the South and West. There is a broad difference of character between the peoples of East and West Scotland. The East throws a narrower and a nippier breed. In the West they take Burns for their exemplar, and affect the jovial and ro- bustious—in some case, it is affectation only, and a mighty poor one at that. They claim to be bigger len and bigger fools than the Eastern billies. And the Eastern billies are very willing to yield one half if the contention. [89] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Mrs. VV'il80D, though Eaitie by nature, liail the jovial manner that you And in Kyle. More jovial, indeed, than wan vommon in nippy Barbie, which, in general character, seems to have been transplanted from some Hand dune looking out upon the Oerman Occiin. She was big of hip and bosom, with sloe-black hair and eyes, and a ruddy cheek, and when she flung back her head for the laugh her white teeth flashed splendid on the world. That laugh of hers became one of the well- known features of Barbie. " I»'d-Bakel " a startled visitor would cry, " whatna skirl's tha-at! " " Oh, dinna be alarmed," a native would comfort him, " it's only Wilson's wife lauc in at the Cross! " Her manner had a hearty charm. She had a laugh and a joke for every customer, quick as a wink with her answer; her jibe was in you and out again, before you knew you were wounded. Some, it is true, took excep- tion to the loudness of her skirl; the Deacon, for in- stance, who " gave her a good one " the first time he went in for snuff. But " Tut! " quoth she, " a mim cat's never gude at the mice," and she lifted him out by the scruff of his neck, crying, " Bun, mousie, or I'll catch ye I " On that day her popularity in Barbie was assured for ever. But she was as keen on the penny as a pe- nurious weaver, for all her heartiness and laughing ways. She combined the commercial merits of the East and West. She could coax you to the buying like a Cumnock quean, and fleece you in the selling like the cadgers o' Kincardine. When Wilson was abr>ad on his affairs he had no need to be afraid that things were mis- managing at home. During his first year in Barbie Mrs. Wilson was his sole helper. She had the brawny [90] CHAPTER TEN •rm of . giMtew, and could to,g a bag of me.1 like a W,y; to .ee her twirl . big ban, on the counter wm to .tr c!„'"^ "7' '' ''"'"'■^ ^- ^'""' D"»'«'<«'' Wab° .ter came m an.I was offensive on.e, « Po<M)or fellow! " «.d she (with a wink to a ountomcr " I^are leT „ Inarhl'"''"''^'-*'''""^'^^'"^-'''"^^^^^^^ With a mate like tha „t the helm every sail of Wil looK aoout him to increase the fleet. [91] XI That the Scot is largely endowed with the commer- cial imagination his foes will be ready to acknowledge. Imagination may consecrate the world to a man, or it may merely be a visualising faculty which sees that, as already perfect, which is still lying in the raw material. The Scot has the lower faculty in full de- gree; he has the forecasting leap of the mind which sees what to make of things — more, sees them made and in vivid operation. To him there is a railway through the desert where no railway exists, and mills along the quiet stream. And his perfervidum ingmium is quick to attempt the realising of his dreams. That is why he makes the best of colonists. Gait is his type — Gait, dreaming in boyhood of the fine water power a fellow could bring round the hill, from the stream where he went a-fishing (they have done it since), dreaming in manhood of the cities yet to rise amid Ontario's woods (they are there to witness to his fore- sight). Indeed, so ilushed and riotous can the Scottish mind become over a commercial prospect that it some- times sends native caution by the board, and a man's really fine idea becomes an empty balloon, to carry him off to the limbo of vanities. There is a megalomaniac in every parish of Scotland. Well, not so much as that; they're owre canny for that to be said of them. But in every district, almost, you may find a poor creature [93] ' CHAPTER ELEVEN who for thirty years has cherished a great scheme by which he means to revolutionize the world's commerce, and amass a fortune in monstrous degree. He is gen- erally to be seen shivering at the Cross, and (if you are a nippy man) you shout carelessly in going by, « Good morning, Tamson; how's the scheme? " And he would listen^ "Man," he will cry eagerly behind you, "if I only had anither wee wheel in my invention-she would Tanmn! "* ^'" '"""^ ^'^^"^ ''^'' ''"^^^ °°°-" ^°°'^ But these are the exceptions. Scotsmen, more than other men perhaps, have the three great essentials of commercial success-imagination to conceive schemes, wanZi • T '""''' '''^'"^' '" f«^ f"™ being want ng, is ,„ „ost cases too much in evidence, perhaps! crippling the soaring mind and robbing the idea of its early radiance; in quieter language, sho'iuakes tlie av - a^ St ? ^''.°^'^^-««''tious. His combinations are rarely Napoleonic until he becomes an American «nn,l .^ ^f forecasting mind is always detecting possibeehties." So he contents himself by creeping cautiously from pent to point, ignoring bj reXsl tridVnut ""^ ^ f' "^^ ™^'' «" hc'a rrS to.(e in business m a score of proverbs-" bit-bv-bit's "ca' :nn?°™^,^'^«'^ ''^-^y-'"^« '^^ baulder" mickle'" L7<r" "T."' ""•''"y » '"«« """kes a mickle , and "creep before ye gang." This min^ hng of caution and imagination is the cLe of his X^l [93] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS prosperity. And its characteristic is a sure progressive- ness. That sure progressiveness was the characteristic of Wilson's prosperity in Barbie. In him, too, imagina- tion and caution were equally developed. He was al- ways foreseeing " chances " and using them., gripping the good and rejecting the dangerous (had he not gripped the chance of auld Hab Jamieson's bam? — ^there was caution in that, for it was worth the money what- ever happened, and there was imagination in the whole scheme, for he had a vision of Barbie as a populous centre and stretts of houses in his holm). And every " chance " he seized led to a better one, till almost every " chance " in Barbie was engrossed by him alone. This is how he went to work. Note the "bit-by-bit- ness" of his great career. When Mrs. Wilson was behind the counter, Wilson was out "distributing." He was not always out, of course — his volume of trade at first was not big enough for that, but in the mornings, and the long summer dusks, he made his way to the many outlying places of which Barbie was tlie centre. There, in one and the same visit, he distributed goods and collected orders for the future. Though his bill had spoken of "carts," as if he had several, that was only a bit of splurge on Iiis part; his one conveyance at the first was a stout spring cart, with a good brown cob between the shafts. But with this he did such a trade as had never been known in Barbie. The Provost said it was " stupen- dous." When Wilson was jogging homeward in the balmy evenings of his first summer at Barbie no eye had he for the large evening star, tremulous above the woods, or for [H] CHAPTER ELEVEN the dreaming sprays against the yellow west. It wasn't his business— he had other things to mind. Yet Wil- son was a dreamer, too. His close musing eye, peering at the dusky-brown nodge of his pony's hip through the gloom, saw not that, but visions of chances, oppor- tunities, occasions. When the lights of Barbie twinkled before him in the dusk he used to start from a pleasant dream of some commercial enterprise suggested by the country round. " Yon holm would make a fine bleach- mg green— pure water, fine air, labour cheap, and every- thing handy. Or the Lintie's Linn among the woods- water power running to waste yonder— surely some- thing could be made of that." He would follow his idea through all its mazes and developments, oblivious of the passing miles. His delight in his visions was ex- actly the same as the author's deliglit in the figments of his brain. They were the same good coiiii)anv along the twilight roads. The author, happy with hi« thronging thoughts (when they are kind enough to throng) is no happier than Wilson was on nights like these. ' He had not been a week on his rounds when he saw a " chance " waiting for development. When out " de- livering" he used to visit the upland farms to buy butter and eggs for the Emporium. He got them cheaper so. But more eggs and butter could be had than were required in the neighbourhood of Barbie. Here was a chance for Wilson! He became a collector for merchants at a distance. Barbie, before it got the railway, had only a silly little market once a fortnight, which was a very poor outlet for stuff. Wilson provided a better one. Another thing played into his hands, too, in that connection. It is a cheese-mak- [95] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS ing countryside about Barbie, and the less butter pro- duced at a cheese-making place — the better for the cheese. Still, a good ^naay pounds are often churned on the sly. What need the cheese merchant ken — it keepit the gudewife in bawbees frae week to week — and if she took a little cream frae the cheese now and than they werena a pin the waur o't, for she aye did it wi' de- cency and caution! Still it is as well to dispose of this kind of butter quietly, to avoid gabble among ill-speak- ers. Wilson, slithering up the back road with his spring cart in the gloaming, was the man to dispose of it quietly. And he got it dirt cheap, of course, seeing it was a kind of contraband. All that he made in this way was not much to be sure — thieepence a dozen on the eggs, perhaps, and fourpence on the pound of butter — still, you know, every little makes a mickle, and liaiiKMl gear helps wecl.* And more important than the immediate profit was the ultimate result. For Wilson, in this way, established with merchants, in far-off Fech- ars and Poltandie, a connection for the sale of country produce which meant a great deal to him in future,^ when he launched out as cheese-buyer in opposition to Gourlay. It " occurred " to him also (things were always occur- ring to Wilson) that the " Scotch Cuddy " business had as fine a chance in " Barbie and surrounding neigh- bourhood " as ever it had in North and Mid-"e England. The " Scotch Cuddy" is so called because he is a beast of burden, and not from the nature of his wits. He is a travelling packman, who infests communities of work- ing men, and disposes of his goods on the credit system, * Mained gear: saved money. [96] CHAPTER ELEVEN receiving payment in instalments. You go into a work- ing man's liouse (when he is away from home for prefer- ence) and, laying a swatch of cloth across his wife's knee, " What do you think of that, mistress? " you en- quire, watching the effect keenly. Instantly all her covetous heart is in her eye and, thinks she to herself, Oh, but John would look well in that, at the Kirk on Sunday! She has no ready money, and would never have the cheek to go into a draper's and order the suit, but when she sees it lying there across her knee, she just cannot resist it. (And iine you knew that when you clmked It down before lier!) Xow that the goods are m the house she ca^uot bear to let thuiii out the door again. But she hints a scarcity of cash. " Tut wo- man! " quoth you, bounteous and kind, " there's no ob- stacle 111 //,«</_ You can pay me in instalments! " How much would the instalments be, she enquires. ' Oh, a mere trifle— half-a-crown a week, say." She hesitates and hankers. "John's Sunday coat's getting quite shabby, so it is, and Tarn Jlacalister has a new suit, she was noticing— the Macalisters are always flaunting in their braws! And, there's that Paisley shawl for herself, too; eh, but they would be the canty pair, cocking down the road on Sundav in that rig'— they would take the licht frae Meg Macalister's e'en, thae Macalisters are always so en-vy-fu'! " Love, vanity, covetousness, present opoortunity, are all at work upon the poor body. She succumbs. But the half-crown weekly payments have a habit of lengthen- mg themselves out till the packman has made fifty per cent by the business. And why not?-a man must have some interest on his money! Then there's the [97] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS risk of bad debts, too — that falls to be considered. Bat there was little risk of bad debts when Wilson took to cloth-distributing. For success in that game depends on pertinacity in pursuit of your victim and Wilson was the man for that. He was jogging home from Brigabee, where he had been distributing groceries at a score of wee houses, when there flashed on his mind a whole scheme for cloth-distribution on a large scale — for mining villages were clustering^ in about Barbie by this time, and he saw his way to a big thing. He was thinking of Sandy Toddle, who had been a Scotch Cuddy in the Midlands and had retired to Bar- bie on a snug bit fortune — he was thinking of Sandy when the plan rose generous on his mind. He would soon have more horses than one on the road — why shouldn't they carry swatches of cloth as well as gro- ceries? If lie had responsible men under Iiiiii, it would be their own interest, for a small commission on the profits, to see that payments were levied con-ectly every week. And those col!'-irs were reckless with their cash, far readier to commit themselves to buying than the cannier country bodies round. Ijord! tlierc was money in the scheme. No sooner thought of than put in prac- tice. Wilson gave up the cloth -peddling after five or six years — he had other fish to fry by that time — ^but while he was at it he made money hand over fist at the job. But what boots it to tell of all his schemes? He had the lucky eye — and everything 1 e looked on prospered. Before he had been a week in Barbie he met Gourlay, just at the Bend o' the Bnic, in full presence of the bod- [98] CHAPTER ELEVEN ieg. Hemembering their first encounter the grocer tried to ouUtare him, but Gourlay hardened his glower and the grocer blinlted. When the two passed, " I declare! " said the bodies, " did ye see yon?— they're not on speak- ing terms! " And they hotched with glee to think that Gourlay had another enemy. Judge of their delight when they saw one day about a month later, just as Gourlay was passing up the street, Wilson come down it with a load of coals for a customer! For he was often out Auchterwheeze road in the early morning, and what was the use of an empty journey back again, especially as he had plenty of time in the middle of the day to attend to other folk's affairs— so here he was, started as a carrier, in full opposition to Gourlay. "Did you see Gourlay 's face?" chuckled the bodies when the cart went by. " Yon mbs a bash in the eye to him. Ha, ha!— he's not to have it all his own way now! " •' Wilson had slid into the ciirrying in the natural de- velopment of business. It was another of the possibili- ties which he saw and turned to his advantage. The two other chief grocers in the place, Cunningham the dirty, and Calderwood the drunken, having no carts or horses of their own, were dependent on Gourlay for con- veyance of their goods from Skeighan. But Wilson brought his own. Naturally, he was asked by his cus- tomers to bring a parcel now and then, and naturally, being the man he was, he made them pay for the privi- lege. With that for a start the rest was soon accom- plished. Gourlay had to pay now for his years of inso- lence and tyranny; all who had irked beneath his dom- ineering ways got their carrying done by Wilson. Ere t m ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS long that prosperous gentleii.an had three carts on tho road, and two men under him to help in his various affairs. Carting was only one of several new developments in the business of J. \V. When the navvies came in about the town and accommodation was ill to find, Wilson rigged up an old shed in the comer of his holm as a hos- telry for ten of them — and they had to pay through tho uose for their night's lodging. Their food they ob- tained from the Emporium, and thus the Wilsons bled them both waysj Then there was tlie scheme for sup- plying milk— another of the " possibeelities." Hither- to in winter. Barbie was dependent for its milk supply on heavy farm-carts that came lumbering down tho street, about half-past seven in the morning, jangling bells to waken sleepy customers, and carrying lanterns that carved circles of hairy yellow out the raw air. But ilrs. Wilson got lour cows, back-calvers who would be milking strong in December, and supplied milk to all the folk about the Cross. She had a lass to help her in the house now, and the i-ed-headed boy was always to be seen, jinking round comers like a weasel, nmning messages hot-foot, er- rand boy to the "bisness" in general. Yet, though everybody was busy and skelping at it, such a stress of work was accompanied with much disarray. Wil- son's yard was tlie strangest contrast to Gourlay's. (iourlay's was a pleasure to the eye, everything of the best and everything in order, since the master's pride would not allow it to be other. But, though Wilson's Emporium was clean, his back yard was littered with dirty straw, broken boxes, old barrels, stable refuse, and [100] CHAPTER ELEVEN the sky-pointing ehafts of carts, uptilted in between. When boxes and barrels were flung out of the Em- porium they were generally allowed to lie on the dung- hill, until they were converted into firewood. " Mis- tress, you're a trifle mixed," said the Provost in grave reproof, when he went round to the back to see Wil- son on a matter of business. But " Tut," cried Sirs. Wilson, as she threw down a plank, to make a path for him across a dub— "Tut," she laughed, "the clartier the cosierl " Ard it was as ti-ue as she said it. The thing went forward splendidly in spite of its con- fusion. Though trade was brisker in Barbie than it had ever been before, Wilson had already done injury to Gour- lay's business as general conveyor. But, hitherto, lie had not infringed on the gurly one's other monopolies. His chance came at last. He appeared on a market day in front of the Hed Lion, a piece of pinkey-brown paper in his hand. That was the flrst telegram ever seen in Barbie, and it had been brought by special messenger from Skeighan. It was short and to the point. It ran: "Will buy 300 stone cheese 8 shillings stone* delivery at once," and was signed by a merchant in Poltandie. Gourlay was talking to old Tarmillan of Irrendavie, when Wilson pushed in and addressed Tarmillan, with- out a glance at the grain-merchant. "Have you a kane o' cheese to sell, , Irrendavie? " was his blithe salutation. • That is for the stone of fourteen pounds. At that time Sootoh cheese was spiling, rmighly, at from lift y to sixty shillines the hundredweigtit. [101] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " I have," Mid Irrendavie, and he eyed him iiupi- ciously. For what was Wilwngpiering for? ff.waum a cheese-merchant. " How much the stane are ye seeking fort? " Mid Wilson. " I have just been asking Mr. Gourlay here for sevei. and t.: .,'• said Irrendavic, " but he winna rise a pennv on the seven! " " /'ll Ki'e ye seven and six," said Wilson, and slapped his long thin flexible bank-book far too ostentatiously against the knuckles of his left hand. " But— but," stammered Irrendavie, suspicious still but melting at the offer, " you have no means of storinir cheese." ^^ "Oh," said Wilson, getting in a fine one at Gourlay, there s no drawback in that! The ways o' business have changed greatly since steam came close to our doors. It-M nothing but vanity nowadays when a coun- try merchant wastes money on a ramshackle of build- ings for storing-there's no need for that if he only had brains to develop quick deliveries. Some folk no doubt, like to build monuments to their own pride' but I m not one of that kind; there's not enough sense in that to satisfy a man like me. Afy offer doesna hold you understan.l, unless you deliver the cheese at Skei- }f han Station. IX) you accept the condition ? " to that''' ^'"''" ''"' ^'■'■^°''"'^' "f'"' '^'"'"K to agree nf''? '"*? *'"' ^^^ ^'°" then," said Wilson, "and we 1 wet th.. bargain with a drink to make it hold the tighter! " Then a strange thing happened. Gouriay had a cu- [102] CHAPTER ELEVEN rioui slick of foreign wood (one of the trifles lie fed hit pride on) the crook of which curved back to the stem and m,.t..d, leaving apace only for the flngcre. The wood wa« of wonderful t,.ughncM, and Oourluy had been known to bet that no man could break the handle of his stick by a single grip over the crook and under it. Yet now, as he saw his bargain whisked away froin l,ii„ and hstened to Wilson's jibe, the thing snapped in his grin like a rotten twig. He »ta-ed down at the broken pieces for a while, as if wondering l,„w they came there, then dashed them on the ground while Wilson stood smiling ^'a ^flT •'" ^"•"''e-v-itli u look on his fare that made the folk fall away. "He's hellish angry," they grinned to each other when their foe was gone, and laughed when they heard the cause of it. " Ha, h., Wilson's the boy to di.ldle himl And yet they looked queer wlien told that the famous stick had snapped in his grasp lik.. u worm- eaten larch-twig. "Lord! " cried the baker in admir- ing awe, did he break it with the ae chirt! ffs h.,,„ tried by scores of fellows lor the last twenty years, and never a man of them was up tlU't! T-ads, there's some- thing splendid about Oourlay's wrath. What a man he IS when the paw-sion grups him! " "Thplendid, d'ye ea't? " said the Deacon. " He may thwing in a towe for his thplendid wrath yet " " . Prom that day Wilson and (iourlay were a pair of gladiators for whom the people of Barbie made a ring they pitted the protagonists against each other and lioun. ed them on to rivalry by their comments and remarks, t.iking the side of the newcomer, less from partiality to him than from hatred of their ancient [103] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS enemy. It wai (trtnge that a thing no impalpable aa goMip should influence lo itrong a man as John Oourlay to hii ruin. But it did. The bodica of Barbie became not only the chorus to Oourlay's tragedy, buzzing it abroad and discussing his downfall; thoy became Jso, lerely by their maddening tattle, a villain of the piece and an active cause of the catastrophe. Their gossip seemed to materialize into a single entity, a something propelling, that spurred Oourlay on to the schemes that ruined him. He was not to be done, he said; he would show the dogs vrhat he thought of them. And so he plunged headlong, while the wory Wilson watched him, Hmiling at the sight. There was a pretty holl-broth brewing in the little town. [104] xn "Ate man, Templandmuir, it's yout" imid OoiirUy, coining forward with jjreat hcnrtinpss, "Ayo man, and how are ye? CVay into the parlour! " "Good evening, Mr. Oourlay," said the Templar. Hi8 manner was curiously subdued. Since his marriage there was a ftrent change in the rubicund squireen. Hitherto he had lived in sluttish comfort on his own land, content with the little it brought in, and proud to be the friend of (Jourlny whom everybody feared. If it ever dawned on his befudd'od mind that Oourlay turned the friendship to his own ac- count, his vanity was flattered by the prestige he a qUired because of it. Like many anothe. robustious big toper, the Templar was a chicken at heart, and " to be m with Gfourlay " lent him a consequence that cov- ered his ueflciency. « Yes, I'm sleepy," he would yawn m Skeighan Mart, « I had a sederunt yestreen wi' John Oourlay," and h, would slap his boot with his riding- switch and feel like a hero. " I know how it is, 1 know how It ,s! " Provost Connal of Barbie used to cry; Oourlay both courts and cowes him-first he courts and then he cowes-and the Templar hasn't the cour- age to break it off! » The Provost hit the mark. .tl" *.^*n **!" '^^'"Pl" "n^rried the mill-ys daughter of the Mill o' Blink (a sad come-down, said foolish neighbours, for a Halliday of Templandmuir) there was [106] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS a sudden change about the laird. In our good Soots proverb, "A miller's daughter has a shrill voice " and the new leddy of Templandmuir ("a leddy she isl" said the frightened housekeeper) justified the proverb. Her voice went with the skirl of an East wind through the rat-riddled mansion of the Hallidays. She was nine- and-twenty, and a birkie woman of nine-and-twenty can make a good husband out of very unpromising material. The Templar wore a scared look in those days and went home betimes. His cronies knew the fun was over when they heard what happened to the great punch-bowl — she made it a swine-trough. It was the heirloom of a hundred years, and as much as a man could carry with his arras out, a massive curio in stone; but to her hus- band's plaint about its degradation, " Oh," she cried, "it'll never know the difference! It's been used to Bwine! " But she was not content with the cessation of the old, she was determined on bringing in the new. For a twelvemonth now she had urg<;d her husband to be rid of Gourlay. The country was opening up, she said, and the quarry ought to be their own. A dozen times he had promised her to warn Gourlay that he must yield the quarry when his tack ran out at the end of the year, and a dozen times he had shrunk from the encounter. " I'll write," he said feebly. " Write! " said she, lowered in her pride to think her husband was a coward. "Write, indeed! Man, have ye no spunk? Think what he has made out o' ye! Think o' the money that has gone to him that should have come to you! You should be glad o' the chance to tell him o't. My certy, if I was you I wouldn't miss [106] CHAPTER TWELVE it for the world— just to lot him know of his cheatry' Oh, it's very right that / "—she sounded the / big and brave— "it's very right that / should live in this tum- bledown hole while he builds a palace from your plun- derl It's right that / should put up with this "—she flung hands of contempt at her dwelling— « it's right that / should put up with this, while yon trollop has a splendid mansion on the top o' the brae! And every bawbee of his fortune has come out of you— the fool makes nothing from his other business— he would have been a pauper if he hadn't met a softie like you that he could do what he liked with. Write, indeed! I have no patience with a wheen sumphs of men! Them do tlio work o' the worid ! They may wear the breeks, but the women wear the brains, I trow. I'll have it out with the black brute myself," screamed the hardy dame, " if you're feared of his glower. If you havena the pluck for It, / have. Write, indeed! In you go to the meet- ing that oald ass of a Provost has convened, and don't show your face in Templandmuir till you have had it out with Gourlay! " No wonder the Templar looked subdued. When Gourlay came foi-ward with his usual calculated heartiness, the laird remembered his wife and felt very uncomfortable. It was ill to round on a man who always imposed on him a hearty and hardy good- fellowship. Gouriay, greeting him so wamJy, gave him no excuse for an outburst. In his dilemma he turned to the children, to postpone the evil hour. "Aye, man, John! " he said, heavily, " you're there! " Heavy Scotsmen are fond of telling folk that they are where they are. « You're there! " said Templandmuir. [107] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN 8HUTTEB8 "Aye," said John, the simpleton, " I'm here." In the grime of the boy's face there were large white circles round the eyes, showing where his fists had rubbed off the tears through the day. " How are you doing at the school? " said the Tem- plar. " Oh, he's an ass! " said Goivilay. " He takes after his mother in that! The lassie's more smart — she fa- vours our side o' the house! Eh, Jenny? " he enquired, and tugged her pigtail, smiling down at her in grim fondness. "Yes," nodded Janet, encouraged by the petting, "John's always at the bottom of the class. Jimmy Wilson's always at the top, and the dominie set him to teach John his 'counts the day — after he had thrashed him! " She cried out, at a sudden tug on her pigtail, and looked up, with tears in her eyes, to meet her father's scowl. " You eediot! " said Gourlay, gazing at his son with a savage contempt, "have you no pride to let Wilson's son be your master? " John slunk from the room. " Bide where you are, Templandmuir," said Gourlay, after a little, " 111 be back directly." He went through to the kitchen and took a crystal jug from the dresser. He " made a point " of bring- ing the water for his whiskey. " I like to pump it up enld," he used to say, "cold and cold, ye know, till there's a mist on the outside of the glass like the bloom on a plum, and then, by Goad, ye have the fine drinking! Oh, no — ^ye needn't tell me, I wouldn't lip drink if the [108 1 CHAPTER TWELVE water wasna ice-cold." He never varied from the tipple he approved. In his long sederunts with Templand- muir he would slip out to the pump, before every brew, to get water of sufficient coldness. To-night he would birl the bottle with Templandmuir as usual, till the fuddled laird should think himself a fine bin fellow as being the intimate of John Qourlay — and i..8n, sober as a judge himself, he would drive him home in the small hours. And when next they met, the pot-valiant squireen would chuckle proudly, "Faith, yon was a night." By a crude cunning of the kind Gourlay had maintained his ascendancy for years, and to-night he would maintain it still. He went out to the pump, to fetch water with his own hands, for their first libation. But when he came back and set out the big decanter Templandmuir started to his feet. "Noat to-night, Mr. Gourlay," he stammered -and his unusual flutter of refusal might have warned Gour- lay—" noat to-night, if you please, noat to-night, if you please. As a matter of fact — eh— what I really came into the town for, doan't you see, was — eh — ^to attend the meeting the Provost has convened about the rail- way. You'll come down to the meeting, will ye noat? " He wanted to get Gourlay away from the House witli the Green Shutters. It would be easier to quarrel with him out of doors. But Gourlay gaped at him across the table, his eyes big with surprise and disapproval. "Huh!" he growled, "I wonder at a man like you giving your head to that! It's a wheen damned non- sense." [109] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " Oh, I'm no so sure of that," drawled the Templar. " I think the railway means to come." The whole country was agog about the new railway. The question agitating solemn minds was whether it should join the main line at Fechars, thirty miles ahead, or pass to the right, through Fleckie and Barbie, to a g'lnction up at Skei^han Drone. Many were the rea- sons spluttered in vehement debate for one route or the other. " On the one side, ye see, Skeighan was a big place a'readys, and look what a centre it would be, if it had three lines, of rail running out and in! Eh, my, what a centre! Then there was Fleckie and Barbie — they would.be the big towns! Up the valley, too, was the shortest road; it would be a daft-like thing to build thirty mile of rail, when fifteen was enough to establish the connection! And was it likely — I put it to ainy man of sense — was it likely the Coal Company wouldn't do everything in their power to get the railway up the valley, seeing that if it didn't come that airt, they would need to build a line of their own? " — " Ah, but then, ye see, Fechars was a big place, too, and there was lota of mineral up there as well! And though it was a longer road to Fechars and pa. c of it lay across the moors, there were several wee towns that airt Just waiting fcr a chance of growth! I can tell ye, sirs, this was going to be a close question! " Such was the talk in pot-house and parlour, at kirk and mart and tryst and fair, and wherever potentates did gather and abound. The partisans on either side began to canvass the country in support of their con- tentions. They might have kept their breath to cool their porridge, for these matters, we know, are settled [110] CHAPTER TWELVE in the great Witenagemot. But petitions were prepared and meetings were convened. In those days Provost Connal of Barbie was in constant communion with the " Pow-ers." " Yass," he nodded gravely — only " nod " is a word too swift for the grave inclining of that mighty pow — " Yass, ye know, the great thing in matters like this is to get at the Pow-ers, doan't you see? Oh, yass, yass; we must get at the Pow-ers! " — and he looked as if none but he were equal to the job. He even went to London (to interrogate the "Pow-ers"), and simple bodies, gathered at theCross for their Saturday at e'en, icld each other with bated breath that the Provost was away to the " seat of Goaver'nient to see about the railway." When he came back and shook his head, hope drained from his fellows and left them hollow in an empty world. But when he smacked his lips on receiving an important letter, the heavens were bright- ened and the landscapes smiled. The Provost walked about the town nowadays with the air of a man on whose shoulders the weight of em- pires did depend. But for all his airs it was not the TIead o' the Town who was the ablest advocate of the route up the Water of Barbie. It was that public-spir- ited citizen, Mr. James Wilson of the Cross! Wilson championed the cause of Barbie with an ardour that did infinite credit to his civic heart. For one thing, it was a grand way of ^commending himself to his new townsfolk, as he told his wife, " and so increasing the circle of our present trade, don't ye understand? " — for another, he was as keen as the keenest that the railway should come and enhance the value of his property. " We must agitate," he cried, when Sandy Toddle mur- [111] I THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS mured a doubt whether anything they could do would be of much avail. " lt'8 not settled yet what road the line's to follow, and who knows but a trifle may turn the scale in our behalf? Local opinion ought to be ex- pressed! They're sending a monster petition f .om the Fechars side; we'll send the Company a bigger one from ours! Look at Skeighan and Fleckie and Barbie— three towns at our back, and the new Coal Company, forbye! A public opinion of that size ought to have a great weight— if put forward properly! We must agitate, sirs, we must agitate — we maun scour the country for names in our support. Look what a number of things there are, to recommend mir route. It's the shortest, and there's no need for heavy cuttings such as are needed on the other side; the road's there a'ready— Bar- bie Water has cut it through the hills. It's the mani- fest design of Providence that there should be a line up Barbie Valley! What a position for't!— And, oh," thought Wilson, " what a site for building houses in my holm! — ^Let a meeting be convened at wunst! " The meeting was convened with Provost Connal in the chair, and Wilson as general factotum. " You'll come down to the meeting? " said Templand- muir to Gourlay. Go to a meeting for which Wilson had sent out the bills! At another, Gourlay would have hurled his usual objurgation that he would see him condemned to eter- nal agonies ere he granted his request! But Tem- plandmuir was different. Gourlay had always flattered this man (whom he inwardly despised) by a companion- ship which made proud the other. He had always yielded to Templandmuir in small things, for the sake [113] CHAPTER TWELVE of the quarry, which was a gr it thing. He yielded to him now. " Verra well," he said shortly, and rose to get his hat. When Gourlay put on his hat, the shallow meanness of his brow was hid, and nothing was seen to impair his dark strong gravity of face. He was a man you would have turned to look at, as he marched in silence by the side of Tcmplandmuir. Though taller than the laird, he looked shorter because of his enormous breadth. Fe had a chest like the heave of a hill. Templand- muir was afraid of him. And fretting at tlie necessity he felt to quarrel with a man of whom he was afraid, he had an unreasonable hatred of Gourlay whose con- duct made this quarrel necessary at the same time that his character made it to be feared; and he brooded on his growing rage that, with it for a stimulus, he might work his cowardly nature to the point of quarrelling Conscious of the coming row, then, he felt awkward in tlie present, and was ignorant what to say. Gourlay was silent, too. He felt it an insult to the House with the Green Shutters that the laird should refuse its prof- fered hospitality. He hated to be dragged to a meeting he despised. Never before wa.s such irritation between them. When they came to the hall, where the meeting was convened, there were knots of bodies grouped about the floor. Wilson fluttered from group to group, an impor- tant man, with a roll of paper.? in his hand. Gourlay, quick for once in his dislike, took in every feat'jre of the man he loathed. Wilson was what the sentimental women of the neigh- bourhood called a " bonny man." His features were [113] i THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS remarkably regular, and his complexion wag remarkably fair. His brow was so delicate of hue that the blue veins running down his temples could be traced dis- tinctly beneath the whiteness of the skin. Unluckily for him he was so fair, that in a strong light (as now bt-neath the gas) the suspicion of his unwashedness be- came a certainty—" as if he got a bit idle slaik now and than, and never a good rub," thought Gourlay in a clean disgust. Full lips showed themselves bright red in the middle between the two wings of a very blonde and very symmetrical moustache. The ugly feature of the face was the blue calculating eyes. They were tender round the lids, so that the white lashes stuck out in little peaks. And in conversation he had a habit of peering out of these eyes as if he were con- stantly spying for something to emerge that he mibiit twist to his advantage. As he talked to a man close by, and glimmered (not at the man beside him, but far away in the distance of his mind at some chance of gain suggested by the other's words) Gourlay heard him say musingly, « Imphm; imphm; imphm; there might be something in that! " nodding his head and stroking his moustache, as he uttered each meditative " imphm." It was Wilson's unconscious revelation that his mind was busy with a commercial hint which he had stolen from his neighbour's talk. " The damned sneck- drawer!" thought Gourlay, enlightened by his hate, "he's sucking Tarn Finlay's brains, to steal some idea for himsell! " And still as Wilson listened he mur- mured swiftly, "Imphm! I see, Mr. Finlay; imphm! imphm! imphm!" nodding his head and pulling his moustache and glimmering at his new " opportunity " [114] CHAITEU TWELVE Our ijuight is often deepest into those we hate, be- cause annoyance fixes our thought on them to prob.. We Mnnot keep our minds off them-" Why do they do It? we snarl, and wondering why, we find out their character. Gourlay was not an observant man, but every man is in any man somewhere, and hate to-niirht driving his mind into Wilson, helped him to read him like an open book. He recognized with a vague un- easiness-not with fear, for Gourlay did not know what It meant, but with uneasy anger-the superior cunning of his rival. Gourlay, a strong block of a man cut off from the world by impotence of speech, could never have got out of Finlay what Wilson drew from him in two minutes' easy conversation. Wilson ignored Gourlay, but he was verj- blithe with Templandmuir and inveigled him off to a comer. They talked together very brisks, and Wilson laughed once with uplifted head, glancing across at Gourlay as he laughed. Curse them, were thiy speaking of him' The hall was crammed at last, and the important bodies took their seats upon the front benches. Gour- lay refused to be seated with the rest, but stood near the platform, with his back to the wall, by the side of Tem- plandmuir. After what the Provost described "as a few prelimi- nary remerks ^-they lasted half an hour-he called on Mr Wilson to address the meeting. Wilson descanted on the benefits that vould accrue to Barbie if it got the railway, and on the needcessity for a " long pull and a strong pull and a pull aUogethcr "-a phrase which he repeated many times in the course of his address. He sat down at last amid thunders of applause [115] THE HOUSE WITH THE OREEN SHUTTERS •• There's no necdccwity for me to make a loang gpeech," said the Provost. " Hear, hear! " said Oourlay, and the meeting waa unkind enough to laugh. " Order, order! " eried Wilson perkily. "As I was saying when I was grossly interrupted," fumed the Provost, " there's no ncedccssity for me to make a loang speech. I had thoat wo were a-all agreed on the desirabeelity of the rileway coming in our direc- tion. I had thoat, after the able — 1 muKt »ny the very able— speech of Mr. Wilson, that there wasn't a man in this room so slitupid as to utter a word of dishapproval. I had thoat wo might proshced at woance to elect a depu- tation. I had thoat we would get the name of every- body hero for the great petition we mean to send the Pow-crs. I had thoat it was all, so to shpeak, a fore- gone conclusion. But it seems I was mistaken, ladies and gentlemen — or rather, I oat to say gentlemen, for 1 believe there are no ladies present. Yass, it seems I was mistaken. It may be there are some who would like to keep Barbie going on in the oald way which they found so much to their advantage. It may be there are some who regret a change that will put an end to their chances of tyraneezin'. It may be there are some who know themselves so shtupid that they fear the new con- deetions of trade the railway's bound to bring." — Here Wilson rose and whispered in his ear, and the people watched them, wondering what hint J. W. was passing to the Prov.i. The Provost leaned with pompous gravity toward his monitor, hand at ear to catch the treasured words. He nodded and resumed. — "Now, gentlemen, as Mr. Wilson said, this is a case that needs [116] OIIAPTEn TWELVE • loang pull, and a atroang pull, and a pull altogethor. We must be unanimous. It will noat do to show our. selves divided among ourselves. Therefore, 1 think, we oat to have expressions of opinion from some of our leading townsman. That will show how far wp are unanimous. I had thoat there could bo only one opin- ion, and that we might proshccd ot once with the peti- tion. But it seems I was wroang. It is best to enquire first exactly where we stand. So I call upon Sir. John Oourlay who has been the foremost man in the town for mainy years— at least ho used to bo that— I call upon Mr. Gourlay as the first to express un opinion on the siibjeck." Wilson's hint to the Provost placed Gourlay in a fine dilemma. Stupid as he was he was not so stupid as not to perceive the general advantage of the railway. If he approved it, however, he would seem to support Wilson and the Provost whom he loathed. If he disapproved, his opposition would be set down to a selfish considera- tion for his own trade, and he would incur the anger of the meeting, which was all for the coming of the rail- way. Wilson had seized tlio chance to put him iu a false position. He knew Gourlay could not put forty words together in public, and that in his dilemma he would blunder and give himself away. Gourlay evaded the question. " It would be better to convene a meeting," he bawled to the Provost, " to consider the state of some folk's back-doors."— That was a nipper to Wilson!—" There's a stink at the Cross that's enough to kill a cuddy! " " Evidently not," yelled Wilson, " since you're still alive! " [117] I i THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS A roar went up agaiiut Oourlby. All he could do wt8 to scowl before him, with hard-«et mouth and gleaming eyei, while they bellowed him to icom. " I would like to hear what Templandmuir has to iiay on the subject," said Wilson getting up, " But no doubt he'll follow his friend, Mr. Gourlay." " No, I don't follow Mr. Oourlay," bawled Templand- muir with unnecessary loudness. The reason of his ve- hemence was twofold. Ho was nettled (as Wilson meant he should) by the suggeHtion that ho was noth- ing but Gourloy's henchman. And, being eager to op- pose Oourlay, yet a coward, he yelled to supply in noise what he lacke<l in reHolution. "I don't follow Mr. Oourlay at all," he roared. " I follow nobody hut myself! Every man in the dis- trict's in support of this petition. It would be ab- surd to suppose anything else. I'll be glad to sign't among the first, and do everything I can in its support." "Verra well," said the Provost, "it seems we're agreed after all. We'll get some of our foremost men to sign the petition at this end of the .ill, and then it'll be placed in the anteroom for the rest to sign as they go out." "Take it across to Oourlay," whispered Wilson to the two men who were carrying the enormous tome. They took it over to the grain-merchant, and one of them handed him an inkhom. He dashe<l it to the ground. The meeting hissed like a cellarful of snakes. But Gourlay turned and glowered at them, and somehow the hisses died away. His was the high courage that [118 1 CHAPTER TWELVE feedi on hate, and welcomei rather than ahrinki from ita expresaion. He woa amiling aa he faced them. " Let me pass," he aaid, and shouldered hia way to the door, the byatandera falling back to make room. Tem- plandmuir followed him out. " I'll walk to the head o' the brae," aaid the Templar. He muat have it out with Oourlay at once, or else go home to meet the anger of IiIh wife, Having oppum-d Oourlay already, he felt that now woh the time to break with him for goml. Only a little was needed to com- plete the rupture. And he woh the more impelled to declare himself to-night bocauRc he had just pcen Oour- lay discomfited, and was lieginulng to despise the man lie had formerly admired. Why the whole meeting had laughed at his expense! In quarrelling with OouHay, moreover, he would liave the whole locality hoj'jnd him. He would range himself on the popular side. Every impulse of mind and body pushed him forward to the brink of speech; he would never get a better occasion to bring out his grievance. They tnidged together in a burning silence. Though nothing was said between them, each was in wrathful contact with the other's mind. Gourlay blamed every- thing that had happened on Templandmuir, who had dragged him to the meeting and deserted him. Ami Templandmuir was longing to begin about the quarry, but afraid to start. That was why he began at last with false unnecessary loudness. It was partly to encourage himself (as a bull bellows to increase his rage) and partly because his spite had been so long controlled. It burst the louder for its pent fury. [ 119 J HHBP THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHITTTERS " Mr. Gourlay! " he bawled suddenly, when they came opposite the House with the Green Shutters, " I've had a crow to pick with you for more than a year! " It came on Gourlay with a flash that Templandmuir was slipping away from him. But he must answer him civilly for the sake of the quarry. "Aye man," he said quietly, "and what may that be? " " I'll damned soon tell you what it is," said the Tem- plar. " Yon was a monstrous overcharge for bringing my ironwork frojn Pleckie. I'll be dnnmed if I put u]. with that! " And yet it was only a trifle. He had put up with fifty worse impositions and never said a word. But when a man is bent on a quarrel any spark will do for an ox- plosion. " How do ye make that out? " said Gourlay, still very quietly, lest he should alienate the quarry laird. " Damned fine do I make that out," yelled Templand- muir, and louder than ever was the yell. He was the brave man now, with his bellow to hearten him. " Damned fine do I make that out. You charged me for a whole i?»y, though half o't was spent upon your own concerns. I'm tired o' you and your cheatry. You've made a braw penny out o' me in your time. But curse me if I endure it loanger. I give you notice this verra night that your tack o' the quarry must end at Mar- tinmas." He was off, glad to have it out and glad to escape the consequence, leaving Gourlay a cauldron of wrath in the darkness. It was not merely the material loss thn*. maddened him. But for the first time in hia life he had [ViO] OH/d'TER miXVE teken a rebuff with( .t a worj oi a blow in return In his desire to conciliate he had let Templandrauir get away unscathed. His blood rocked him where he stood ke walked blindly to the kitchen door-never know- ing how he reached it. It was locked-at this early hour!-and the simple inconvenience let loose the furv- of his wrath He struck the door with his clenched fist tm the blood streamed on his knuckles ^J^ 7^ Mm Gourlay who opened the door to him. She started back before his awful eyes. " John! " she cried, " what's wrong wi' ye' " The sight of the she-tatterdemalion there before him whom he had endured so long and must endure for- ever, was the croTOing burden of his night. Damn her why didn't she get out of the way, why did she stand there in her dirt and ask silly questions? He struck her on the bosom with his great fist, and sent her spin- ning on the dirty table. She rose from among the broken dishes, and came towards him, with slack lips and great startled eyes. John she panted, liKe a pitiful frightened child, what have I been doing? .... Man, what did you hit me for? " He gaped at her with hanging jaw. He knew he was K "^^ *"^ ''"' ^^ ^'""' ""t^'-nS t°-"ight more than she had ever done, knew he had vented on her a wrath that should have burst on others. But his mind was at a stick; how could he explain-to her? He gaped and glowered for a speechless moment, then fumed on his heel and went into the parlour, slamming the door till the windows rattled in their frames. She stared a liim a while in large-eve<l <ti [ lai ] ipor. THE HOUSE WITH THE GEEEN SHUTTEES then flung herself in her old nursing chair by the fire, and spat blood in the ribs, hawking it up coarsely— we forget to be delicate in moments of supremer agony. And then she flung her apron over her head and rocked herself to and fro in the chair where she had nursed his children, wailing: " It's a pity o' me, it's a pity o' me! My God, aye, it's a geyan pity o' me! " The boy was in bed, but Janet had watched the scene with a white scared face and tearful cries. She crept to her mother's side. The sympathy of children with those who weep is innocently selfish. The sight of tears makes them un- comfortable, and they want them to cease, in the inter- ests of their own happiness. If the outward signs of grief would only vanish, all would be well. They are not old enough to appreciate the inward agony. So Janet tugged at the obscuring apron, and whim- pered, " Don't greet, mother, don't greet. Woman, I dinna like to see ye greetin'." But Mrs. Gourlay still rocked herself and wailed, " It's a pity o' me, it's a pity o' me; my God, aye, it's a geyan pity o' me." [122] xm " Is he in himsell? " asked Gibson the builder, com- ing into the Emporium. Mrs. Wilson was alone in the shop. Since trade grew so brisk she had an assistant to help her, but he was out for his breakfast at present, and as it happened she was all alone. " No," she said, " he's no in! We're terribly driven this twelvemonth back, since t-ade grew so thrang, and he's aye hunting business in some corner. He's out the now after a carrying affair. Was it ainything par- ticular?" ' She looked at Gibson with a speculation in her eyes that almost verged on hostility. Wives of the lower classes who are active helpers in a husband's affairs, often direct that look upon strangers who approach him in the way of business. For they are enemies whatever way you take them; come to be done by the husband or to do him— in either case, therefore, the object of a sharp curiosity. You may call on an educated man. either to fleece him or be fleeced, and his wife, though she knows all about it, will talk to you charmingly of trifles, while you wait for him in her parlour. But a wife of the lower orders, active in her husband's affairs, has not been trained to dissemble so prettily— though her face be a mask, what she is wondering comes out in her eye. There was suspicion in the big round stare t 183 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERP that Mrs. Wilson directed at the builder. What was he spieling for " himsell " for? Wiiat could he be up to? Some end of his own, no doubt. Anxious curiosity forced her to enquire. " Would I do instead? " slio asked. " Well, hardly," said Gibson, clawing his chin, and gazing at a corded round of " Barbie's Best " just above his head. '■ Dod, it's a fine ham that," he said, to turn the subject. " How are ye selling it the now? " " Tti.pence a pound retail, but ninepence only if ye take a whole one. ; Ye had better let me send you one, Mr. Gibson, now that winter's drawing on! It's a heartsome thing, the smell of frying ham on a frosty morning — " and her laugh went skelloching up the street. " Well, ye see," said Gibson with a grin, " I expect Mr. Wilson to present me with one, when he hears the news that I have brought him." " Aha! " said she, " it's something good, then," and she stuck her arms akimbo. " James! " she shrilled, " James! " — and the red-haired boy shot from the back premises. " Run up to the Red Lion, and see if your father has finished his crack wi' Templandmuir. Tell him Mr. Gibson wants to see him on important business." The boy squinted once at the visitor, and scooted, the red head of him foremost. While Gibson waited and clawed his clan she exam- ined him narrowly. Suspicion as to the object of his visit fixed lier attention on his face. He was a man with mean brown eyes, Brown eyes may be clear and limpid as a mountain pool, or they mav [ 124 ] CHAPTER THIltTEEN ^ive the line black flash of anger and the jovial .-learn or they may be mean thing^little and ly and o ij' C.ibson'8 had the depth of eunning, not the depth of character and they glistened like the eyes of aTu f a an.mal. He was a reddish man, with a fringe !f sandy beard, and a perpetual grin which showed his yelW teeth, w.th green deposit round their roots l7w^^ more han a grin, it was a rictus, semicircular fro cheek to cheek, and the beady cyos, ever on the wateh up above it, belied its false benevo ence. He wllot flond, yet that grin of his see.nod to intens J Tred Uisbncss perhaps because it brought out a'nd made l.ro,m„ent h.s sandy valance and the ruddy round of lis checks) so that the baker christened hi,„ long ago "the man w.th the sandy smile," " Cunning Johnny " wa - other nickname. \\ilso„ had recognized a match " lum the mo„,ent he can.e to Uarbic, and had resoWcd o act w.th h„u if he could, but never to act agaiTlJm flil. n'T": "'"'""'^ '" ^■••"^'' ''"'-•• «"* o . icallicr, in short. The grocer ca.ue in hurriedly, while-waistcoaled to- day and a perceptibly bigger bulge in his belly than «l.en we hrst saw hin, in Barbie, four years ago now. Good morning, Mr. Oibson," he panted. "Is it I)rivatc that ye wanted to see me on? " " Verra private," said the sandy smiler. " "e'll go through to the house then," said Wilson J".d ushered his guest through the back ^ren.ises But • be vo.ce of h.s w.fe recalled him. " James! " she cried. o^z \::c7:2 ^"'' " """ '- *"™'"' *" •^-^ '--« " Be careful what you're doicg," she [125; ! whispered in his THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS I 1 ear. " It wasna for nothing they chriBtened Gibson ' Cunning Johnny.' Keep the dirt out your e'en." " There's no fear of that," he assured her pompously. It was a grand thing to have a wife like that, b"t her advice nettled him now just a little, because it seemed to imply a doubt of his efficiency — and that was quite onneccssar. He knew what he was doing. They would need to rise very early that got the better o' a man like him! " You'll take a dram? " said Wilson when they reached a pokey little room where tlic most conspicuous HuJ dreary object ,was a large bare flowerpot of red earthenware, on a green woollen mat, in the middle of a round table. Out of the flowerpot rose gauntly a three- sticked frame, up which two lonely stalks of a climbing piant tried to scramble, but failed miserably to reach the top. The round little ricketty table with the family album on one corner (placed at what Mrs. Wilson con- sidered a beautiful artistic angle to the window), the tawdry cloth, the green mat, the shiny horsehair sofa, and the stulFy atiuospherc, were all in a perfect harmony of ugliness. A sampler on the wall informed the world that there was no place like home. Wilson pushed the flowerpot to one side, and " You'll take a dram? " he said blithely. " Oh, aye," said Gibson with a grin, " I never refuse drink when I'm offered it for nothing." " Hi! hi! " laughed Wilson at the little joke, and pro- duced a cut decanter and a pair of glasses. He filled the glasses so brimming full that the drink ran over on the table. " Canny, man, for God's sake canny! " cried Gibson [186] CHAPTER THIRTEEN starting forward in alarm. " Don't ye see you're spill- ing the mercies? " He stooped liis lips to the rim of his glass, and 8ip,.ed, lest a drop of Scotia's nectar should escape him. They faced each other, sitting. "Here's pith! " said Gibson—" Pith! " said the other in chorus, and they nodded to each other in amity, primed glasses up and ready. And then it was eyes heavenward and the little finger uppermost. Gibson smacked his liyis once and again when the licry spirit tickled his uvula. "Ha!" said he, " tliat's the stulf to put heart in a man." " It's no bad whiskey," said Wilson complacently. Gibson wiped the sandy stubble round his mouth with the back of his hand, and considered lor a moment. Then, leanin;,' forward, he tapped Wilson's knee in whis- ])ering importance. "Have you heard the news?" he nuirmureil, with a watchful glimmer in his eyes. " No! " cried Wilson glowering, eager and alert. " Is't oeht in the business line? Is there a possibeelity for me in't? " " Oh, there might," nodded Gibson, playing his man for a while. "Aye man! " cried Wilson briskly, and brought his chair an inch or two forward. Gibson grinned and watched him with his beady eyes.—" What green teeth he has! " thought Wilson who was not fastidious. " The Coal Company are meaning to erect a village for five hundred miners a mile out the ileekie Road, and they're running a branch line up the Lintie's [127] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Burn, tlmt'll ncetl the building of a dozen brigs. I'm happy to say I have nabbed the contract for the building." " Man, Mr. Gibson, d'ye tell me that! I'm proud to hear it, sir; I am that! " AVilson was botching in his chair with eagerness. For what could Gibson be want- ing with him if it wasna to arrange about the carting? " Fill up your glass, Mr. Gibson, m.in; fill up your glass! You're drinking nothing at all. Let me help you! " "Aye, but I havona the contract for the carting," said Gibson. " That's not mine to dispose of. They mean to keep it in their own hand." Wilson's mouth forgot to shut, and his eyes were big and round as his mouth in staring disappointment. Was it this he was wasting his drink for? " Where do I come in? " he asked blankly. Gibson tossed off another glassful of the burning hcartener of men, and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "D'ye ken Goudie, the Company's Manager? lie's worth making up to, I can tell ye. He has complete control of the business, and can airt you the road of a good thing. I made a point of helping him in every- thing, ever since he came to Barbie, and I'm glad to say that lie hasna forgotten't. Man, it was through him I got the building contract— they never threw't open to the public. But they mean to contract separate for carting the material. That means that they'll need the length of a dozen horses on the road for a twelvemonth to come; for it's no only the building— they're launch- ing out on a big scale, and there's lots of other things forbye. Now Goudie's as close as a whin and likes to [128] CHAPTER THIRTEEN keep everything dark till the proper time conicB for xploring o't. Not a whisper has been heard so far about this village for the miners— there's u rumour, to be sure, about a wheen houses going up, but nothing near the reality. And there's ..ot a soul, cither, that kens there's a big contract for carting to be had 'ceptna Oou- die and mysi'll. But or a month's bye, they'll be adver- tising for csdiiiates for a twclveinonth's tarrying. I thocht 11 hint aforehand would be worth something to you, and tliafs the reason of my visit." " I see," said Wilson briskly. " ^'ou're vcrru good, Jlr. Gibson. You moan you'll give mc an inkling in imyate of the other estimates sent in, and help to ar- range mine according? " " Na," said (iibson. " (ioudie s ow ic close to let me ken! I'll speak a word in his car on your behalf, to be sure, if you agree to the i)i'op(.sal I mean to i)ut before you. Hut (Jourlay's the man you need to keep your eye on. It's you or him for (he contract— there's nobody else to couipcte wi' the two o' yc." " Implim, I see," said Wilson, and tugged his mous- tache in meditation. All expression died out of his face while his brain churned within. What Brodic had chris- tened " the considering keek " was in his eyes; they were far away, and saw the distant village in process of erec- tion; busy with its ehauccs and occasions. Then an uu- oasy thought seemed to strike him and recall him to the man by his side, lie stole a shifty glance at the sandy smiler. •' " But I thought you were a friend of Gourlav's " he said slowly. " Friendship!" said Gibson. "We're speaking of busi- [ 139 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE (IREEN SHUTTERS neml And there's Biiia-uU friendship atween me and Uourlay. He was nebby owre a bill I sent in the other day; and I'm getting tired of his bluster. Besides, there's little more to bo made of him. Qourlay's bye wi't. But you're a rising man, Mr. Wilson, and I think that you and me might work thegither to our own ad- vantage, don't ye sec? Yes; just so; to the advantage of us both. Oom?" " I hardly see what you're driving at," said Wilson. " I'm driving at this," said Ciibson. " If (lourlay kens you're against him for the contract, he'll cut his esti- mate down to a ruinous price, out o' sheer spitt — yes, out o' sheer spite— rather than be licked by you in public competition. And if he does that, Ooudie and I may do what wo like, but we , anna help you. For it's the partners that decide tlu estimates sent in, d'ye see? Imphm, it's the i)artncrs. Goudie has noathing to do wi' that. And if Ciourlay ouee gets round the partners, you'll be left out in the colil for a very loang time. Shivering, sir, shivering! You will that! " " Dod, you're right. Tliere's a danger of that. But I fail to see how wo can prevent it! " " We can put Qourlay on a wrong scent," said Gibson. " But how though? " Gibson met one question by another. " What was the charge for a man and a horse and a day's carrying when ye first came hereaway? " he asked. "Only four shillings a day," said Wilson promptly. " It has risen to six now," he added. "Exactly!" said Gibson; "and with the new works coming in about the town it'll rise to eight yet! I have it for a fact that the Company's willing to gie that! [130] OHAPTEU THIRTEEN Now if you and mc could procure a job for Oourlay at the lower rate, before the newg o' thi8 new industry gets scattered— a job that would require the whole of his plant, you understand, and prevent his competing for the Company's business — we would clear" — he clawed his chin to help his arithmetic — " we would clear three hundred and seventy-four pounds o' diffcrgnco on the twelvemonth. At least ijou would make that," he added, " but you would allow me u handsome commis- sion of course — the odd hundred and seventy, say — for bringing the scheme before yc! I don't think there's ocht unreasonable in tha-at! For it's not the mere twelvemonth's work that's at stake, you understand, it's the valuable connection for the fee-yuturel Now, I have influence wi' Ooudic; I can help you there. But if Gourlay gets in there's just a eliancu that you'll never be able to oust him." " I see," said Wilson. " Before he knows what's com- ing, we're to provide work .V.r Oourlay at the lower rate, both to put money in our own pocket aud prevent him competing for the better business." " You've summed it to the nines," said Gibson. " Yes," said Wilson blankly, " but how on earth are w$ to provide work for him? " Gibson leaned forward a second time and tapped Wilson on the knee. " Have you never considered what a chance for build- ing there's in that holm of yours? " he asked. " You've a fortune there, lying undeveloped! " That was the point to which Cunning Johnny had been leading all the time. He cared as little for Wilson as for Oourlay; all he wanted was a contract for cover- [131] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS ing Wilwn'd holm with jerry-built hou»c«, aua a good commisgion on the year's carrying. It was for this ho evolved the conspiracy to cripple (Jourlay. Wilson's thoughts went to and fro like the shuttle of a weaver. He blinked in rapidity of thinking, and stole shifty glances at his comrade. He tugged his mous- teeho and said " Imphm " many timcu. Then hin vyv^ went off in their long preoccupied stare, and the sound of the lireiith, coming heavy through his nostrils, wa» audible in the quiet room. Wilson was one of the men whom you hear thinking. " I sec," he said slowly. " You mean to bind Uour- lay to cart building material to my holm, ut the present price of work. You'll bind him in general tenna so that he canna suspect, till the tiuie comes, who in par- ticular he's to work for. In tlie meantime I'll be free to offer for the Company's business at the higher price." " That's the size o't," said (iibson. Wilsim was staggered by the riii)i(l combinations of llio scheme. Hut Cunning .Johnny had him in the toils. The plan he proposed stoleabout thegrocer's every weak- nes8,and tugged his inclinations to consent. It was very important, he considered, that he, and no other, should obtain this contract, which was both valuable in itself and an earnest of other business in the future. And Oibson's scheme got Gourlay, the only possible rival, out the way. For it whs not possible for Gourlay to put more than twelve horses on the road, and if he thought he had secured a good contract already, he would never dream of applying for another. Then, Wdson's malice was gratified by the thought that Gour- lay, who hated him, should have to serve, as helper and [138] CHAPTER THIRTEEN underling, in a sclivinc for hln aggrandizement. That would take down his pride for liiin! And the commer- cial imagination, m Htrong in Wilson, was inltamed by the vision of himself as u wealthy house-owner which (iibson put before hlui. Cunning Johnny knew all this when he broiiciied the scheme — he foresaw the pull of it on Wilson's nature. Yet Wilson hesitated. lie did not like to give himself to (Jibson quite so rapidly. " You go fast, Mr. Gibson," said he. " Faith, you go fast! This is a big affair, and needs to be looked at for a while." " Fast! " cried Gibson. " Damn it, we have no time to waste. We nmun net on the spur of the moment." " I'll have to borrow money," said Wilson slowly, " and it's verra dear at the present time." " It was never worth more in Barbie than it ie at the present time. Man, ilon't ye see the chance you're neg- lecting? Don't ye see what it means? There's thou- sands lying at your back door if j-e'U only reach to pick them up! Yes, thousands! Thousands, I'm telling ye! Thousands! " Wilson saw himself provost and plutocrat. "\ et was he cautious. " Ynu'W do well by the scheme," he said tartly, " if you get the sole contract for building tlie.se premises of mine, and .i fat commission on the carrj-ing forbye! " " Can you carry the scheme without me? " said Gibson. " A word from me to Goudie means a heap." There was a veiled threat in the remark. . " Ob, we'll come to terms," said the other. " But how will you manage Gourlay? " "Aha!" said Gibson, "I'll come in handy for that, [133] THE HOUSE WITH THE GEEEN SHUTTERS you'll discovert There's been a backset in Barbie for the last year— things went owre quick at the start and were followed by a wee lull; but it's only for a time, sir, it's only for a time. Hows'ever, it and you thegither have damaged Gourlay— he's both short o' work and scarce o' cash, as I found to my cost when I asked him for my siller! So when I offer him a big contract for carting stones atween the quarry and the town foot, he'll swallow it without question. I'll insert a clause that he must deliver the stuff at such places as I direct within four hundred yards of the Cross, in ainy direction— for I've several jobs niar the Cross, doan't ye see, and how's he to know that yours is one o' them ? Man, it's easy to bamboozle an ass like Gourlay! Besides, he'll think my principals have tnisted me to let the carrying to amyone I like, and, as I let it to him, he'll fancy I'm on his side, doan't ye see?— he'll never jalouse that I mean to diddle him. In the meantime we'll spread the news that you're meaning to build on a big scale upon your own land— we'll have the ground levelled, the foun- dations dug, and the drains and everything seen to. Now, it'll never occur to Gourlay, in the pres- ent slackness o' trade, that you would contract wi' another man to cart your material, and go hunting for other work yoursell. That'll throw him off the scent till the time comes to put his nose on't. 'When the Com- pany advertise for estimates he canna compete wi' you because he's preengaged to me, and he'll think you're out o't, too, because you're busy wi' your own woark. You'll be free to nip the eight shillings. Then we'll force him to fulfill his bargain and cart for us at sixl " " If he refuses? " said Wilson. [134] I CHAPTER THIRTEEN "I'll have the contract stamped and signed in the presence of witnesses," said Gibson. " Not that that's necessary, I believe, but a double knot's aye the safest." Wilson looked at him with admiration. "Gosh, Mr. Gibson," he cried, "you're a warmer! Ye deserve your name. Ye ken what the folk ca' you ? " " Oh, yes," said Gibson complacently. " I'm quite proud o' the description." " I've my ain craw to pick wi' Qourlay," he went on. " He was damned ill-bred yestreen when I asked him to settle my account, and talked about extortion. But bide a wee, bide a wee! I'll enjoy the look on his face when he sees himself forced to carry for you, at a rate lower than the market price." When Gibson approached Qourlay on tlie following day he was full of laments about the poor stnte of trade. "Aye," said he, " the grand railway they boastml o' hasna done muckle for the town! " "Atweel aye," quoth Gourlay with pompous wisdom; " they'll maybe find, or a's bye, that the auld way wasna the warst way. There was to be a great boom, as they ca't, but I see few signs o't." " I see few signs o't, either," said Gibson, " it's the slackest time for the last twa years." Qourlay grunted his assent. " But I've a grand job for ye, for a' that," said Gib- son, slapping his hands. " What do ye say to the feck of a year's carting t.veesht the quarry and the town foot? " " I might consider that," said Gourlay, " if the terms were good." " Six shillins," said Gibson, and went on in solemn [135] I THE HOUSE WITH THE GEEEN SHUTTERS protest: " In the present state o' trade, doan't ye see, I conldna give a penny more." Gourlay, who had de- nounced the present state of trade even now, was pre- vented by his own words from asking for a penny more. "At the town foot, you say? " he asked. " I've several jobs thereaway," Gibson explained hur- riedly; " and you must agree to deliver stuil ainy place I want it within four hundred yards o' the Cross! — It's all one to you, of course," he went on, " seeing you're paid by the day." " Oh, it's all oni to me," said Gourlay. Peter Biney and the new " orra " man were called in to witness the agreement. Cunning Johnny had made it as cunning as he could. " We may as well put a stamp on't," said he. "A stamp costs little, and means a heap." " You're damned particular the day," cried Gourlay in a sudden heat. "Oh, nothing more than my usual, nothing more than ray usual," said Gibson blandly.—" Good morn- ing, Mr. Gourlay," and he made for the door, buttoning the charter of his dear revenge in the inside pocket of his coat. Gourlay ignored him. When Gibson got out he turned to the House with the Green Shutters, and "Curse you! " said he, "you may refuse to answer me the day, but wait till this day eight weeks. You'll be roaring than." On that day eight weeks Gourlay received a letter from Gibson requiring him to hold himself in readiness to deliver stone, lime, baulks of timber, and iron girders in Mr. Wilson's holm, in terms of his agreement, and in accordance with the orders t<> be given him from day to [13«] CHAPTER THIRTEEN day. He was apprised that a couple of carts of lime and seven loads of stnno were needed on the morrow. He went down the street with grinding jaws, the let- ter crushed to a white pellet in his hand. It would have gone ill with Gibson had he met him. Gourlay could not tell why, or to what purpose, he marched on and on with forward staring eyes. He only knew vaguely that the anger drove him. When he came to the Cross a long string of carts was filing from the Skeighan Road, and passing ar^oss to the street leading Fleckie-ward. He knew them to be Wilson's. The Deacon was there of course, hobbling on his thin shanks, and cocking his eye to see every- thing that happened. " What does this mean? " Gourlay asked him, though he loathed the Deacon. " Oh, haven't ye heard? " quoth the Deacon blithely. " That's the stuff for the new mining village out the Fleckie Boad. Wilson has nabbed the contract for the carting. They're saying it was Gibson's influence wi' Goudie that helped him to the getting o't! " Amid his storm of anger at the trick, Gourlay was conscious of a sudden pity for himself, as for a man most unfairly worsted. He realized. for a moment his own inefficiency as a business man, in conflict with cleverer rivals, and felt sorry to be thus handicapped by nature. Though wrath was uppermost, the other feeling was re- vealed, shewing itself by a gulping in the throat and a rapid blinking of the eyes. The Deacon marked the signs of his chagrin. " Man! " he reported to the bodies, " but Gourlay was cut to the quick. His face shewed how gunkit he was. [137] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Oh, but he was chawed. I saw his breist give the great heave." " Were ye no sorry? " cried the baker. "Thorry, hi!" laughed the Deacon. "Oh, I was thorry, to be sure," he lisped, " but I didna thyow't. I'm glad to thay I've a grand control of my emotionth. Not like thum folk we know of," he added slily, giving t'lB baker a " good one." All next day Gibson's masons waited for their build- ing material in Wilson's holm. But none came. And all day seven of Gourlay's horses champed idly in their stalls. Barh'i tiad a weekly market now, and, as it happened, that was the day it fell on. At two in the afternoon Gourlay was standing on the gravel outside the Red Lion, trj'ing to look wise over a sample of grain which a farmer had poured upon his great palm. Gibson ap- proached with false voice and smile. " Gosh, Mr. Gourlay! " he cried protestingly; " have ye forgotten whatna day it is? Ye havena gi'en my men a ton o' stuff to gang on wi'! " To the farmer's dismay his fine sample of grain was scattered on the gravel by a convulsive movement of Gourlay's arm. As Gourlay turned on his enemy, his face was frightfully distorted; all his brow seemed gath- ered in a knot above his nose, and he gaped on his words, yet ground them out like a labouring mill, each word solid as plug shot. "I'll see Wil-son .... and Gib-son .... and every other man's son ... . frying in hell," he said slowly, " ere a horse o' mine draws a stane o' Wilson's property. Be damned to ye, but there's your answer! " [138] CHAPTER THIRTEEN Gibson's cunning deserted him for once. He put his hand on Gourlay's shoulder in pretended friendly re- monstrance. " Take your hand off my shoutherl " said Gourlay in a voice the tense quietness of which should have warned Gibson to forbear. But he actually shook Gourlay with a feigned play- fulness. Next instant he was high in air; for a moment the hobnails in tne soles of his boots gleamed vivid to the sun; then Gourlay sent him flying through the big win- dow of the Red Lion, right on to the middle of the great table where the market-folk were drinking. For a minute he lay stunned and bleeding among the broken crockery, in a circle of white faces and startled cries. Gourlay's face appeared at the jagged rent, his eyes narrowed to fiercely gleaming points, a hard, triumphant devilry playing round his black lips. "You damned treacherous rat! " he cried, " that's the game John Gourla can play wi' a thing like you." Gibson rose from the ruin on the table and came bleeding to the window, his grin a rictus of wrath, his green teeth wolfish with anger. " By God, Gourlay," he screamed, " I'll make you pay for this; I'll fight you through a' the law courts in Bree- tain, but you'll implement your bond." " Damn you for a measled swine, would you grunt at me," cried Gourlay, and made to go at him through the window. Though he could not reach him Gibson quailed at his look. He shook his fist in impotent wrath, and spat threats of justice through his green teeth. [139] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " To hell wi' your law-wersl " cried Gourlay, " I'd throttle ye like the dog you are on the floor o' the House o' Lords." But that day was to cost him dear. Ere six months passed he was cast in damages and costs for a breach of contract aggravated by assault. He appealed, of course. He was not to be done; he would shew the dogs what he thought of them. [140] XIV In those days it came to pass that Wilson sent his son to the High School of Skeighan, even James, the red- haired one, with the squint in his eye. Whereupon Gourlay sent his son to the High School of Skeighan, too, of course, to be upsides with Wilson. If Wilson could afford to send his boy to a distant and expensive school, then, by the Lord, so could he! And it also came to pass that James, the son of James, the grocer, took many prizes. But John, the son of John, took no prizes. Whereat there were ructions in the House of Gourlay. Gourlay's resolve to be equal to AVilson in everything he did was his main reason for sending his son to the High School of Skeighan. That he saw his business decreasing daily was a reason, too. Young Gourlay was a lad of fifteen now, undersized for his age at that time, though he soon shot up to be a swaggering youngster. He had been looking forward with delight to helping his father in the business — how grand it would be to drive about the country and see things! — and he had irked at being kept for so long under the tawse of old Bleach- the-boys. But if the business went on at this rate there would be little in it for the boy. Gourlay was not with- out a thought of his son's welfare when he packed him off to Skeighan. He would give him some book-lear, he said; let him make a kirk or a mill o't. But John shrank, chicken-hearted, from the prospect. [Ul] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Was he still to drudge at books? Was he to go out among strangers whom he feared? His imagination set to work on what he heard of the High School of Skeighan and made it a bugbear. They had to do mathematics — what could he do wi' thae whigmaleeries? They had to recite Shakespeare in public — how could he stand up and spout, before a whole jing-bang o' them? " I don't want to gang," he whined. " Want? " flamed his father. " What does it matter what you want? Go you shall." , " I thocht I was to help in the business," whimpered John. " Business! " sneered his father. " A fine help you would be in business." " Aye man, Johnnie," said his mother, maternal fond- ness coming out in support of her husband, "you should be glad your father can allow ye the oppor- tunity. Eh, but it's a grand thing, a gude education I You may rise to be a minister." Her ambition could no further go. But Gourlay seemed to have formed a different opinion of the sacred calling. " It's a' he's fit for," he growled. So John was put to the High School of Skeighan, travelling backwards and forwards night and morning by the train, after the railway had been opened. And he discovered, on trying it, that the life was not so bad as he had feared. He hated his lessons, true, and avoid- ed them whenever he was able. But his father's pride and his mother's fondness saw that he was well-dressed and with money in his pocket; and he began to grow im- portant. Though Gourlay was no longer the only " big man " of Barbie, he was still one of the " big men," and [142] CHAPTER FOURTEEN a coDBciousness of the fact grew upon his son. When he passed his old classmates (apprentice-grocers now and carters and ploughboys) his febrile insolence led him to swagger and assume. And it was fine to mount the train at Barbie on the fresh cool mornings, and be ott past the gleaming rivers and the woods. Better still was the home-coming — to board the empty train at Skei- ghan when the afternoon sun came pleasant through the windows, to loll on th'3 fat cushions, and read the novel- ettes. He learned to smoke too, and that was a source of pride. When the train was full on market days he liked to get in among the jovial farmers who encouraged his assumptions. Meanwhile Jimmy Wilson would be elsewhere in the train, busy with iiis lessons for the mor- row — for Jimmy had to help in the Emporium of nights — his father kept him to the grindstone. Jimmy had no more real ability than young Gourlay, but infinitely more caution. He was one of the gimlet characters who, by diligence and memory, gain prizes in their schooldays — and are fools for the remainder of their lives. The bodies of Barbie, seeing young Gourlay at his pranks, speculated over his future, as Scotch bodies do about the future of every youngster in their ken. " I wonder what that son o' Gourlay's 'uU come till," said Sandy Toddle, musing on him with the character- reading eye of the Scots peasant. "To no good — you may be sure of that," said ex- Provost Connal. " He's a regular splurge! When Drunk Dan Kennedy passed him his flask in the train the other day he swigged it, just for the sake of showing off! And he's a coward, too, for all his swagger. He [143] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS grew ill-bred when he swallowed the drink, and Dan, to frighten him, threatened to hang him from the win- dow by the heelal He didn't mean it, to be sure; but young Qourlay grew white at the very idea o't — he shook like a dog in a wet sack. ' OhI ' he cried, shivering, ' how the ground would go flying past your eyes; how quick the wheel opposite ye would buzz — it would blind ye by its quickness — how the grey slag would flash be- low ye! ' Those were his very words. He seemed to see the thing as if it were happening before his eyes, and stared like a follow in hysteerijs, till Dan was obliged to give him another drink! ' You would spue with the dizziness,' said he, and he actually bocked him- sell." Young Gourlay seemed bent on making good the prophecy of Barbie. Though his father was spending money he could ill afford on his education, he fooled away his time. His mind developed a little, no doubt, since it was no longer dazed by brutal and repeated floggings. In some of his classes he did fairly well. But others he loathed. It was the rule at Skeighan High School to change rooms every hour, the classes tramping from one to another through a big lobby. Gourlay got a habit of stealing off at such times — it was easy to slip out — and playing truant in the bye-ways of Skeighan. He often made his way to the station, and loafed in the waiting roi . He had gone there on a summer afternoon, to avoid his mathematics and read a novel, when a terrible thing befell him. For a while he swaggered round the empty platform and smoked a cigarette. Milk-cans clanked in a shed, mournfully. Gourlay had a congenital horror of eerie [144] CHAPTER FOUBTEEN lounda — he was his mother's son for that — and he fled to the waiting room, to avoid the hollow clang. It was a June afternoon, of brooding heat, and a band of yellow sunshine was lying on the glazed Uble, showing every scratch in its surface. The place oppressed him— he was sorry he had come. But he plunged into his novel and forgot the world. He started in fear when a voice addressed him. He looked up— and hero it was only the bakerl— the baker smiling at him with his fine grey eyes, the baker with his reddish fringe of beard and his honest grin, which wrinkled up his face to his eyes in merry and kindly wrinkles. He had a wonderful hearty manner with a boy. " Aye man, John; it's you, said the baker. " Dod, I'm just in time. The storm's at the burstin! " " Storm! " said Oourlay. He had a horror of light- ning since the day of his birth. " Aye, we're in for a pelter. What have you been doing that you didna see't? " They went to the window. The fro— g heavens were a black purple. The thunder, whicn had been growling in the distance, swept forward and roared above the town. The crash no longer rolled afar, but cracked close to the ear, hard, crepitant. Quick light- ning stabbed the world in vicious and repeated hate. A blue-black moistness lay heavy on the cowering earth. The rain came — a few drops at nrst, sullen, as if loth to come, that splashed on the pavement wide as a crown-piece — then a white nish of slanting spears. A great blob shot in through the window, open at the top, and spat wide on Gourlay's cheek. It was lukewarm. THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS He itarted violently — that wannth on hii cheek brought the terror so near. The heavens were rent with a crash and the earth seemed on fire. Oourlay screamed in terror. The baker put his arm round him in kindly protec- tion. "Tuts, man, dinna be feared," he said. "You're John Oourlay's son, ye know. You ought to be a hardy man." " Aye, but I'm no," chattered John, the truth coming out in his fear. " I just let on to be." But the worst was soon over. Lightning, both sheet- ed and forked, was vivid as ever, but the thunder slunk growling away. " The heavens are opening and shutting like a man's eye," said Gourlay; "oh, it's a terrible thing the world — " and he covered his face with his hands. A flash shot into a mounded wood far away. "It stabbed it like a dagger! " stared Oourlay. "Look, look, did ye see yon? It came down in a broad flash — then jerked to the side — then ran down to a sharp point again. It was like the coulter of a plough." Suddenly a blaze of lightning flamed wide, and a fork shot down its centre. " That," said Gourlay, " wa« like a red crack in a white-hot furnace door." " Man, you're a noticing boy," said the baker. "Aye," said John, smiling in curious self-interest, " I notice things too much. They give me pictures in my mind. I'm feared of them, but I like to think them over when they're bye." [146] CHAPTER FOURTEEN Boys are «low of confidence to their elders, but Oour- l«y'» terror and the baker", kindnen moved him to speak. In a vague way he wanted to explain. " I'm no feared of folk," he went on, with a faint return to hu swagger. " But things get in on me. A body seems so wee compared with that—" he nodded to the warring heavens. The baker did not understand. " Have you seen your faither?" he asked. ' " My faither! " John gasped in terror. If his father should find him playing truant! " Yes; did ye no ken he was in Skeighan? We come up thegither by the ten train, and are meaning to gang hame by this. I expect him every moment." John turned to escape. In the doorway stood his father. ' When Gourlay was in wrath he had a widening glower that enveloped the offender-vet his eye seemed to stab —a flash shot from its centre to transfix and pierce Gaze at a tiger through the bars of his cage, and you will see the look. It widens and concentrates at once. " What are you doing here? " he asked, with the wild- beast glower on his son. I — I — I." John stammered and choked. '' What are you doing here? " said his father. John's fingers worked before him; his eyes were large and aghast on his father; though his mouth hung open no words would come. " How lang has he been here, baker? " There was a curious regard between Gourlay and the baker. Gourlay spoke with a firm civility. " Oh, just a wee whilie," said the baker. [147] THE HOUSE WITH THE GEEEN SHUTTERS "I seel You want to shield him. — You have been pkying the truant, have 'ee? Am I to throw away gude money on you for this to be the end o't? " " Dinna be hard on him, John," pleaded the baker. " A boy's but a boy. Dinna thrash him." " Me thrash him! " cried Gourlay. " I pay the High School of Skeighan to thrash him, and I'll take damned good care I get my money's worth. I don't mean to hire dowgs and bark for myselll " He grabbed his son by the coat-collar and swung him out the room. Down High Street he marched, carrying his cub by the scruil of the neck as you might carry a dirty puppy to an outhouse. John was black in the face; time and again in his wrath Gourlay swung him off the ground. Grocers coming to their doors, to scatter fresh yellow sawdust on the old, now trampled black and wet on the sills, stared sideways, chins up and mouths open, after the strange spectacle. But Gourlay splashed on amid the staring crowd, never looking to the right or left. Opposite The Fiddler's Inn whom should they meet but Wilson! A snigger shot to his features at the sight. Gourlay swung the boy up — for a moment a wild im- pulse surged within him to club his rival with his own son. He marched into the vestibule of the High School, the boy dangling from his great hand. " Where's your gaffer? " he roared at the janitor. " Gaffer? " blinked the janitor. " Gaffer, dominie, whatever the damn you ca' him, the fellow that runs the business." " The Headmaster! " said the janitor. [148] CHAPTER FOURTEEN "Heid-maister, aye!" said Qourlay in gcom, and went trampling after the janitor down a long wooden comdor. A door was flung open showing a class-room where the Headmaster was seated teaching Greek The sudden appearance of the great-chested figure in the door, with his fierce gleaming eyes, and the rain- beads shinmg on his frieze coat, brought into the close academic air the sharp strong gust of an outer world. I believe I pay you to look after that boy," thun- dered Qourlay; "is Ihis the way you do your work' " And with the word iie sent his son spinning along the floor like a curling-stone, till he rattled, a wet huddled lump, against a row of chairs. John slunk bleeding behmd the master. ^'1 Really! " said MacCandlish, rising in protest. " Don't ' really ' me, sir! I pay you to teach that boy, and you allow him to run idle in the streets! What have you to seh?" "But what can I do?" bleated MacCandlish, with a white spread of deprecating hands. The stronger man took the grit from his limbs. "Do? Do? Damn it, sir, am 7 to be your dominie? Am 7 to teach you your duty? Do! Flog him, flog him, flog him— if you don't send him hame wi' the welts on him as thick as that forefinger, I'll have a word to say to you-ou, Misterr MacCandlish! " He was gone— they heard him go clumping along the corridor. Thereafter young Gourlay had to stick to his books. And, as we know, the forced union of opposites breeds the greater disgust between them. However, his school- days would soon be over, and meanwhile it was fine to [149] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS po8e on his journeys to and fro as Young Hopeful of the Oreen Shutters. He was smoking at Skeighan Station on an afternoon, as the Barbie train was on the point of starting. He was staying on the platform till the last moment, in order to shew the people how nicely he could bring the smoke down his nostrils — his " Prince of Wales's feathers " he called the great curling puffs. As he dallied, a little aback from an open window, he heard a voice which he knew mentioning the Gourlays. It was Templandmuir who was speaking. " I see that Oourlay has lost his final appeal in that law-suit of his," said the Templar. " D'ye tell me that? " said a strange voice. Then — " Oosh, he must have lost infernal I " "Atweel has he that," said Templandmuir. "The costs must have been enormous, and then there's the damages. He would have been better to settle't and be done wi't, but his pride made him fight it to the hind- most! It has made touch the boddom of his purse, I'll wager ye. Weel, weel, it'll help to subdue his pride a bit, and muckle was the need o' that." Young Oourlay was seized with a sudden fear. The prosperity of the House with the Green Shutters had been a fact of his existence; it had never entered his boyish mind to question its continuance. But a weaken- ing doubt stole through his limbs. What would become of him, if the Oourlays were threatened with disaster? He had a terrifying vision of himself as a lonely atomy, adrift on a tossing world, cut off from his anchorage. " Mother, are loe ever likely to be ill off? " he asked hi* mother that evening. [160] CHAPTEB FOUKTEEN She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his brow fondly. He was as tall as herself now. No no, dear; what makes je think that? Your father has always had a grand business, and I brought a hantle money to the house." " ^?^7' " ™'^ *^* y°"^^' " ''hen Ah'm in the biui- ness, Ah'll have the timesl " [161] XV GouBLAY was hard up for money. Every day of his l>fe taught him that he was nowhere in the LeLol modern competition. The gr..nd days-^nira few years back, but seeming half a century away, so nmlhTad happene,, ,„ bet^een-the grand days when he was the Sh a hiXh ", 't\'T''''' ""-i -"--i -- "h '; ».th a high hand, had disappeared for ever. Now all was bustle hurry, and confusion, the getting and send ing of telegrams, quick despatches by r^lway The watchmg of markets at a distance, rapid combi^'tions that bewildered Gourlay's duller mind At first he Z was too stupid to use them cleve.ly. When he plunged f2C^!: """""^ ^''"^ '" '^°- He had lost heavily of ate both m grain and cheese, and the law-suit with Gib- ertv if B»T \^ 5'"^- " """' "*" '"' »•'"» that prop- thla ^"^'r^'' '""^"^ed i^ value; the House with the Green Shutters was to prove the buttress of his for- tune. Already he had borrowed considerably upon that St mo^ """ "'"' ^'"'"'''^ ^ «" '" ^^'^^^'^ "•" fJ'u'^'^' ^v"™/^' "'"^ Yarrowby," of Glasgow were the lawyer «-ho financed him, and he had to sign some papj.r« at Goudie's office ere he touched the cash He was meaning to drive of course; Gourlay was [ 168 ] CHAPTER FIFTEEN proud of his gig, and always kept a spanking roadster. What a fine figure of a man! " you thought, as you saw him coming swiftly towards you, seated high on his driving cushion. That driving cushion was Gourlay's pedestal from which he looked down on Barbie for many a day. ■' A quick step, yet shambling, came along the lobby. There was a pause, as of one gathering heart for a ven- ture; then a clumsy knock on the door. " Come in," snapped Gourlay. Peter Riney's queer little old face edged timorously into the room. He only opened the door the width of his face, and looked ready to bolt at a word " Tarn's deid! " he blurted. Gourlay gashed himself frightfully with his razor, and a big r»d blob stood out or his cheek. " Deid! " he stared. "Yes," stammered Peter. "He was right enough when Elshie gae him his feed this morning, but when I went in enow, to put the harness on, he was lying deid in the loose-box. The batts— it's like." For a moment Gourlay stared with the open mouth of an angry surprise, forgetting to take down his razor. "Aweel, Peter," he said at last, and Peter went away The loss of his pony touched Gourlay to the quick. He had been stolid and dour in his other misfortunes had taken them as they came, calmly; he was not the man to whme and cry out against the angry heavens. He had neither the weakness, nor the width of nature to indulge in the luxury of self-pity. But the sudden death of his gallant roadster, his proud pacer through the streets of Barbie, touched him with a sense of quite [ 163 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS ])er8onal loss and bereavement. Coming on the heels of his other calamities it seemed to make them more poig- nant, more sinister, prompting the (juestion if misfor- tune would never have an end. " Damn it, I have enough to thole," Gourlay mut- tered; " surely there was no need for this to happen." .Vnd when he looked in the mirror to fasten his stock, and saw the dark strong clean-shaven face, he stared at it for a moment,' with a curious compassion for the man before him, as for one who was being hardly used. The hard lips could never have framed the words, but the vague feeling in his heart, as he looked at the dark vi- sion, was: " It's a pity of you, sir." He put on his coat rapidly, and went out to the stable. An instinct prompted him to lock the door. He entered the loose-box. A shaft of golden light, aswarm with motes, slanted in the quietness. Tam lay on the straw, his head far out, his neck unnat- urally long, his limbs sprawling, rigid. What a spanker Tam had been! What gallant drives they had had together! When he first put Tam between the shafts five years ago, he had been driving his world before him, plenty of cash and a big way of doing. — Now Tam was dead, and his master netted in a mesh of care. " I was always gude to the beasts at any rate," Gour- lay muttered, as if pleading in his own defence. For a long time he stared down at the sprawling car- cass, musing. " Tam the powney," he said twice, nod- ding his head each time he said it; " Tam the powney "; and he turned away. How was he to get to Skeighan? He plunged at his [154] CHAPTER FIFIEEN watch. Tho ten o'clock train had already f;onc, the ex- press did not stop at Barbie; if he waited till one o'clock he would be late for his appointment. 'I'Iltc was a brake, true, which ran to Skeiglian every Tucfday. It was a downeome, though, for a man who liad been proud of driving behind his own horseflesh to pack in among a crowd of the Barbie sprats. And if he went by the brake, he would be sure to rub shoulders with his sting- ing and detested foes. It was a fine day; like enough the whole jing-bang of them would be going with the brake to Skeighan. Gourlay, who shrank from nothing, shrank from the winks that would be sure to pass when they saw him, the liaughty, the aloof, forced to creep among them cheek for jowl. Then his angry pride rushed towering to his aid. Was Jolin Gourlay to turn tail for a whccn o' the Barbie dirt? Damn the fear o't! It was a public conveyance; he had tlie same right to use it as the rest o' folk! The place of departure for the brake was the " Black Bull," at the Cross, nearly opposite to Wilson's. There were winks and stares and elbow-nudgings when the folk hanging round saw Gourlay coming forward; but he paid no heed. Gourlay, in spite of his mad violence when roused, was a man at all other times of a grave and orderly demeanour. lie never splurged. Even his bluster was not bluster, for he never threatened the thing which he had not it in him to do. He walked quietly into the empty brake, and took his seat in the right-hand comer, at the top, close below the driver. As he had expected, the Barbie bodies had mustered in strength for Skeighan. In a country brake it is the privilege of the important men to mount beside the [155] TUE UOUSE WITH THE ttKEEN SHUTTERS driver, in order to take the air and show themselves off to an admiring world. On the dickey were ex-Provost Counal and Sandy Toddle, and between them the Dea- con, tightly wedged. The Deacon was so thin (the bodic) that though he was wedged closely, ho could turn and address himself to Tam Brodie, who was seated next the door. The fun began when the horses were crawling up the first brae. c The Deacon turned with a wink to Brodie, and drop- ping a glance on the crown of Qourlay's hat, " Tum- muth " he lisped, " what a dirty place that ithi " point- ing to a hovel by the wayside. Brodie took the cue at once. His big face flushed with a malicious grin. "Aye," he bellowed, " the owner o' that maun be married to a dirty wife, I'm thinking! " " It must be terrible," said the Deacon, " to be mar- ried to a dirty trollop." " Terrible," laughed Brodie; " it's enough to give ainy man a gurly temper." Thiy had Gourlay on the hip at last. More than ar- rogance had kept him off from the bodies uf the town; a conxiousness also, that he was not their match in ma- licious innuendo. The direct attack he could meet superbly, downing his opponent with a coarse birr of the tongue; to the veiled gibe he was a quivering hulk, to be prodded at your ease. And now the malignants were around him (while he could not get away); talking to each other, indeed, but at him, while he must keep quiet in their midst. At every brae they came to (and there were many braes) the bodies played their malicious game, shout- [166] CHAPTER FIFTEEN ing remarks along the brake, to each other's ears, to his comprehension. The new house of Templandmuir was seen above the trees. " What a splendid house Templandmuir has builtl " cried the ex-Provost. " Splendid! " echoed Brodie. " But a laird like the Templar has a right to a fine mansion such as that! He's no' like some merchants we ken o' who throw away money on a house for no other end but vanity. Many a man builds a grand house for a show-off, when he has verra little to support it. But the Templar's different. He has made a mint of money since he took the quarry in his own hand." " He's verra thick wi' Wilson, I notice," piped tho Deacon, turning with a grin, and a gleaming droop of the eye on the head of his tormented enemy. The Deacon's face was alive and quick with the excitement of the game, his face flushed with an eager grin, his eyes glit- tering. Decent folk in the brake behind, felt com- punctious visitings when they saw him turn with the flushed grin, and the gleaming squint on the head of his enduring victim. "Now for another stab!" they thought. " You may well say that," shouted Brodie. " Wilson has procured the whole of the Templar's carterage. Oh, Wilson has become a power! Yon new houses of his must be bringing in a braw penny. — I'm thinking, Mr. Connal, that Wilson ought lo be the Provost! " " Strange! " cried the former Head of the Town, "that you should have been thinking that! I've just been in the same mind o't. Wilson's by far and away [1S7] THE HOUSE WITH THE GBEEN SHUTTERS the most progreraive man we have. What a business he has built in two or three yearal " " He has thati " shouted Brodie. " He goes up the brae as fast as some other folk arc going down't. And yet they tell me he got a verra poor welcome from some of us the first morning he appeared in Barbie! " Oourlay gave no sign. Others would have shown by the moist glisten of self-pity in the eye, or the scowl of wrath, how much they were moved; but Gourlay stared calmly before him, his chin resting on the head of his staff, resolute, immobile, like a stone head at gaze in the desert. Only the larger fulness of his fine nostril be- trayed the hell of wrath seething within him. And when they alighted in Skeighan an observant boy said to his mother, " I saw the marks of his chirted teeth through his jaw." But they were still far from Skeighan, and Gourlay had much to thole. "Did ye hear?" shouted Brodie, "that Wilson is sending his son to the College at Embro' in October? " "D'ye tell me that?" said the Provost. "What a successful lad that has been! He's a credit to moar than Wilson, he's a credit to the whole town." "Aye," yelled Brodie, " the money wasna wasted on him! It must be a terrible thing when a man has a splurging ass for his son, that never got a prize! " The Provost began to get nervous. Brodie was going too far. It was all very well for Brodie who was at the far end of the waggonette, and out of danger; but if he provoked an outbreak, Gourlay would think nothing of tearing Provost and Deacon from their perch, and toss- ing them across the hedge. [ 168 ] CIIAPTEU FIFTEEN " WTiat docs Wilson mean to make of liis son? " lie enquired — a civil enough question surely. " Oh, a minister. That'll mean six or seven years at the University." " Indeed! " said the Provost. " That'll cost an enor- mous siller! " " Oh," yelled Brodie, " but AVilson can afford it! It's not everybody can! It's all vcrra well to send your son to Skeighan High School, but when it comes to sending him to College, it's time to think twice of what you're doing — especially if you've little money left to como and go on." " Yeth," lisped the Deacon, " if a man canna afford to College his son he had better put him in hith busi- ness — if he hath ainy business left to thpeak o', that ithi " The brake swung on through merry cornfields wliere reapers were at work, past happy brooks flashing to the sun, through the solemn hush of ancient and mysterious woods, beneath the great white-moving clouds and blue spaces of the sky. And amid the suave enveloping greatness of the world, the human pismires stung each other and were cruel, and full of hate and malice and a petty rage. " Oh, damn it, enough of this! " said tlie baker at last. " Enough of what? " blustered Brodie. " Of you and your gibes," said the baker with a wry mouth of disgust. " Damn it, man, leave folk alane! " Gourlay turned to him quietly. " Thank you, baker," he said slowly. "But don't interfere on my behalf! John Gourla " — he dwelt on his name in ringing pride — " John Gourla can fight for his own hand — if so, there [ ISO ] THE HOUSE WITU THE OREEN. SHUTTERS need, to be. And pay no heed to the thing before ye. The mair ye tramp on • dirt it spreads the wider! " " Who wai referring to youf " bellowed Brodie. Qourlay looked over at him in the far corner of the brake, with the wide open glower that made people blink. Brodie blinked rapidly, trying to stare fiercely the while. " Maybe yo wema referring to me," said Gourlay slowly. " But if / had been in your end o' the brake ye would have been in hell or thisi " He had said enough. There was silence in the brake till it reached Skeighan. But the evil was done. Enough had been said to influence Qourlay to the most disastrous resolution of his life. " Get yourself ready for the College in October," ho ordered his son that evening. " The College! " cried John, aghast. " Yes! Is there ainything in that to gape at? " snapped his father, in sudden irritation at the boy's amaze. " But I don't want to gang! " John whimpered as before. " Want! MHiat does it matter what yau want? You should be damned glad of the chance! I mean to make ye a minister — they have plenty of money and little to do — a grand easy life o't. MacCandlish tells me you're a stupid ass, but have some little gift of words. You have every qualification! " " It's against my will," John bawled angrily. " Your will! " sneered his father. To John the command was not only tyrannical, but treacherous. There had been ijothing to warn him of [160] CHAITER FIFTEEN • coining change, for Uuurlay was too contemptuous of hi« wife and children to inform them ho«- h\H bHsinesa ■tood. John had been brought up to go ..ilo itie bnsi- nem, and now, at the laat moment he vus wmIuc 'vt J, and ordered off to a new life, from w'urh (..cit 'iigliac, of his being shrank afraid. He wa u'-<-id *.'th an tin- agination in excess of his brains, ain! In i!i.> wte of il.c future he saw two pictures with i;'icann\ viviiiiic-j — himself in bleak lodgings raising lii., l.oau iioi'i ■\'ii>;il. to wonder what they were doing at hoim to-in ,tit i'u!, contrasted with that loneliness, the others !ii, ( nnues, laughing along the country roads beneath (!.(■ glimmer of the stars. They would bo having the fine ploys while he was mewed up in Edinburgh. Must he leave loved Barbie and the House with the Green Shutters, must ho •till drudge at books which he loathed, must he venture on a new life where everything terrified his mind? " It's a shame! " he cried. "And I refuse to go. I don't want to leave Barbie! I'm feared of Edinburgh " — and there he stopped in conscious impotence of speech. How could he explain his forebodings to a rock of a man like his father? " No more o't! " roared Gourlay, flinging out his hand. " Not another word! You go to College in October! " "Aye man, Johnny," said his mother, " think o' the future that's before yel " "Aye! " howled the youth in silly anger, " it's like to be a braw future! " " It's the best future you can have! " growled his father. For while rivalry, born of hate, was the propelling • [ 161 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS influence in Gourlay's mind, other reasons whispered that the course suggested by hate was a ^'ood one on its merits. His judgment, such as it was, supported the im- pulse of his blood. It told him that the old business would be a poor heritage for his son and that it would be well to look for another opening. The boy gave no sign of aggressive smartness to warrant a belief that he would ever pull the thing together. Better make him a nunister. Surely there was enough money left about the House for tha-at! It was the best that could be- fall him. Mrs. Gourlay, for her part, though sorry to lose her son, was so pleased at the thought of sending him to College, and making him a minister, that she ran on in foolish maternal gabble to the wife of Drucken V :';■ ter. Mrs. Webster informed the gossips and they discussed the matter at the Cross. "Dod," said Sandy Toddle, "Gourlay's better off than I supposed! " "Huts!" said Brodie, "it's just a wheen bluff to blind folk!" " It would fit him better," said the Doctor, " if he spent some money on his daughter. She ought to pass the winter in a warmer locality than Barbie. The las- sie has a poor chest! I told Gourlay, but he only gave a gnmt. And ' oh,' said Mrs. Gourlay, ' it would be a daft-like thing to send her away, when John maun be weel-provided for the College.' D'ye know, I'm begin- ning to think there's something seriously wrong with yon woman's health! She seemed anxious to consult me on her own account, but when I offered to sound her, she wouldn't hear of it — ' Na,' she cried, ' I'll keep it [T68] CHAPTEB FIFTEEN to mysell! '— and put her arm across her breast as if to keep me off. I do think she's hiding some com- plaint 1 Only a woman whose mind was weak with disease could have been so callous as yon about her lassie." " Oh, her mind's weak enough," said Sandy Toddle. " It was always that! But it's only because Gourlay has tyraneezed her verra soul. I'm surprised, however, that he should be careless of the girl. He was aye said to be browdened upon her." "Men-folk are often like that about lassie-weans," said Johnny Coe. " They like well enough to pet them when they're wee, but when once they're big they never look the road they're on! They're a' very fine when they're pets, but they're no sae fine when they're pretty misses.— And, to tell the truth, Janet Oourlay's ainy- thing but pretty! " Old Bleach-the-boys, the bitter dominie (who rarely left the studies in political economy which he found a solace for his thwarted powers) happened to be at the Cross that evening. A brooding and taciturn man, he said nothing till others had their say. Then he shook his head. " Thc^-'re making a great mistake." he said gravely, " they're making a great mistake! Yon boy's the last youngster on earth who should go to College." "Aye man, dominie, he's an infernal ass, is he noat? " they cried, and pressed for his judgment. .At last, partly in real pedantry, partly, with hu- mourous intent to puzzle them, he delivered his astound- ing mind. " The fault of young Gourlav," quoth he, " is a sen- [163] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS sory perceptivenegg in gross excess of his intellectual- ity-" They blinked and tried to understand. "Aye man, dominie! " said Sandy Toddle. " That means he's an infernal cuddy, dominie! Does it na, dominie?" But Bleach-the-boys had said enough. "Aye," he said drily, " there's a wheen gey cuddies in Barbie! "— and he went back to his stuffy little room to study Tht VitcUh, of Nations. [164] XVI The scion of the house of Gourlay was a most un- travelled sprig when Iiis father packed him off to the University. Of the world beyond Skeighan he had no idea. Kepression of his children's wishes to see some- thing of the world was a feature of Oourlay's tyranny, less for the sake of the money which a trip might cost (though that counted for something in his refusal) than for the sake of asserting his authority. " Wants to gang to Fechars, indeed! Let him bide at home," he would growl, and at home the youngster had to bide. This had been the more irksome to John since most of his companions in the town were beginning to peer out, with their mammies and daddies to encourage them. To give their cubs a " cast o' the world " was a rule with the potentates of Barbie; once or twice a year young Hopeful was allowed to accompany his sire to Fechar.s or Poltandie, or — oh, rare joy! — to the city on the Clyde. To go farther, and get the length of Edin- burgh, was dangerous, because you came back with a hnlo of glory round your head which banded your fel- lows together in a common attack on your pretensions. It was his lack of pretension to travel, however, that banded them against young Gourlay. " Gunk " and " cIkiw " are the Scots for a bitter and envious disap- pointment which allows itself in face and eyes. Yo\mg Gourlay could never conceal that envious look when [165] THE HOUSE WITH THE GKEEN SHUTTERS he heard of a glory which he did not share; and the youngsters noted his weakness with the unerring preci- sion of tlie urchin to marlc simple difference of charac- ter. Now the boy presses fiendishly on an intimate discoveiy in the nature of his friends, both because it gives him a new and delightful feeling of power over them, and also because he has not learned charity from a sense of his deficiencies, the brave ruffian having none He IS always coming back to probe the raw place, and Barbie boys were always coming back to " do a gunk " and play a chaw "oh young Gourlay by boasting their knowledge of the world, winking at each other the while to observe his grinning anger. They were large on the wonders they had seen and the places they had been to, while he grew small (and they saw it) in envv of their superiority. Even Swipey Broon had a crow at him. For Swipey had journeyed in the company of his father to far-off Fechars, yea even to the groset-fair- and came back with an epic tale of his adventures. He had been in fifteen taverns, and one hotel (a Temper- ance Hotel where old Brown bashed the proprietor fo. refusing to supply him gin); one Pepper's Ghost; one flild Beasts' Show; one Exhibition of the Fattest \\ oman on the Earth; also in the precincts of one gaol where Mr. Patrick Brown was cruelly incarcerate for wiping the floor with the cold refuser of the gin Cnffens! Fechars! " said Swipey for a twelvemonth after stunned by the more recollection of that home of the glories of the earth. And then he would begin to expatiate for the benefit of young Gourlay-f„r Swipey though his name was the base Teutonic Brown, had 'a Celtic contempt for brute facts that cripple the imperial [icei CHAPTER SIXTEEN t,.in,l So well did he expatiate that young Gourlav would ^Imk home to his n.other and Jy, " Vah, even hw.j,ey Broon ha« been to Fechars. though my faitl," soothe hun, 'when once you're in the business, you'll r/an7Sn ''"' ""' ^"^ ' *•>- •>- «^« « "-'- tl„ff"hf °""t.\' '•"1^''' '" S° ''«^'' "'"1 f'o^ for a day, hat he nught be able to boast of it at home vounc^ eutt ng of his heart-strmgs. Each feature of it, town and landward was a crony of old years. In a land 1 Le Barb.e of qmck hill and dale, of tumbled wood and ell each facet of nature has an individuality so separate and' Tour frif;^ ''/ ^°" '"' "■"'^ " ' """' i' b-^^o-es thouit f '-r V"^""""^ '" '''""• '^^'^ y" ""^^ the thought of ,t m absence. The fields are not similar as pancakes; they have their difference; eacii leaps to he eye with a remembered and peculiar charm. That ^ why the heart of the Scot dies in flat Southern lands; he hves ,n a vacancy; at dawn there is no Ben Agray to nod recognition through the mists. And that is why when he gets north of Carlisle he shouts with glee as each remembered object sweeps on the sight; yonder-s the Aith with a fisherman hip-deep jigging at his rod, and yonder's Corsoncon with the mist on his brow It IS less the totality of the place than the individual fea- ture that pulls at the heart, and it was the individual fea ure that pulled at young Gourlay. With intellect little or none, he had a vast sensational experience, and each aspect of Barbie was working in his blood and brain. M as there ever a Cross like Barbie Cross; was r 107 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS there ever a bum like the Lintie? It was blithe and lieartsome to go birling to Skeighan in the train; it was grand to jouk round Barbie on the nichts at e'en! Even people whom he did not know he could locate with warm sure feelings of superiority. If a poor workman slouched past him on the road lie set him down in his heart as one of that rotten crowd from the Weaver's Vennel or the Tinker's Wynd. Barbie was in subjec- tion to the mind of the son of the important man. To dash about Barbie in a gig with a big dog walloping behind, his coat-collar high about his ears, and the reek of a meerschaum pipe floatingwhite and bluemanyyards behind him, jovial and sordid nonsense about home — that had been his ideal. His father, he thought angrily, had encouraged the ideal, and now he forbade it, like the brute he was. From the earth in which he was rooted so deeply his father tore him, to fling him on a world he had forbidden him to know. His heart pre- saged disaster. Old Gourlay would have scorned the sentimentality of seeing hira off frmn the station, and Mrs. Gourlay was too feckless to r.ropose it for herself. Janet had offered to convoy him, but wh«n the afternoon came she was down with a racking coU!. He was alone as he strolled on the platform; a youth well-groomed and well- supplied, but for once in his life not a swaggerer — though the chance to swagger was unique. He was pointed out as "Young Gourlay off to the College." But he had no pleasure in the role, for bin heart was in his boots. He took the slow train to Skeighan, where he boarded the express. Few sensational experiences were un- I CHAPTER SIXTEEN known to his too-impressionable mind, and he knew th« animation of railway travelling. Coming back from Skeighan in an empty compartment on nights of the past, he had sometimes shouted and stamped and banged the cushions till the dust flew, in mere joy of his rush through the air; the constant rattle, the quick-repeated noise, getting at his nerves, as they get at the nerves of savages and Englishmen on Bank Holidays. But any animation of the kind which he felt to-day was soon expelled by the slow uneasiness welling through his blood. He had no eager delight in the unknown coun- try rushing past; it inspired him witli foar. He thought with a feeble smile of what ilysie ilonk said when they took her at the age of sixty (for tlie first time in her life) to the top of l[ilmaunoch Hill. " Eh," said Mysie, looking round her in amaze, " Eh, sirs, it's a lairge place the world when you see it all! " Gourlay smiled be- cause he had the same thought, but feebly, because he was cowering at the bigness of the world. Folded nooks in the hills swept past, enclosing their lonely farms; then the open straths where autunmal waters gave a pale gleam to the sky. Sodden moors stretched away in vast I>atient loneliness. Then a grey smear of rain blotted the world, penning him in with his dejection. He seemed to be rushing through unseen space, with no companion but his own foreboding. "Where are von going to? " asked his mind, and the wheels of the train repeated the question all the way to Edinburgh, jerking it out in two short lines and a long one: " Where are you going to? MTiere are you going to? Ha, ha, Mr. Gourlay, where are you going to? " It was the same sensitiveness to physical impression [ 169 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS which won him to Barbie that repelled him from the outer world. The scenes round Barbie, so vividly im- pressed, were his friends because he had known them from his birth; he was a somebody in their midst and had mastered their familiarity; they were the ministers of his mind. Those other bcenes were his foes because, realising them morbidly in i. Mua to himself, he was cowed by their big indiffer.i m to him, and felt puny, a nobody before them. Al he could not pass them like more manly and more callous minds; they came bur- dening in on him whether he would or no. Neither could he get above thprn. Except when lording it at Barbie he had never a quick reaction of the mind on what he saw; it possessed him, not he it. About twilight, when the rain had ceased, his train was brought up with a jerk between the stations. While the rattle and bang continued it seemed not unnatural to young Gourlay (though depressing) to be whirling through the darkening land; it went past like a pano- rama in a dream. But in the dead pause following the noise he thought it " queer " to be sitting here in the intense quietude and looking at a strange and unfamiliar scene— planted in its midst by a miracle of speed and gazing at it closely through a window! Two plough- men from the farmhouse near the line were unyoking at the end of the croft; he could hear the muddy noise (" splorroch " is the Scotch of it) made by the big hoofs on the squashy head-rig. " Bauldy " was the name of the shorter ploughman, so yelled to by his mate, and two of the horses were " Prince and Rab " just like a pair in Loranogie's stable. In the curtainless window of the farmhouse shone a leaping flame, not tlie steady glow of [170] CHAPTER SIXTEEN a lamp, but the tossing brightness of a fire, and thought he to himself, "They're getting the porridge for the men! " He had a vision of the woman stirring in the meal, and of the homely interior in the dancing ii re- light. He wondered who the folk were, and would have liked to know them. Yes, it was " queer," he thouglit, that he who left Barbie only a few hours ago should bv m intimate momentary touch with a plact and peoole he had never seen ; ore. The train seemed arrested by a spell that he might get his vivid impression. When ensconced in his room that evening, he had a brighter outlook on the world. With the curtains drawn, and the lights burning, its shabbiness was unre- vealed. After the whirlin.T strangeness of the day he was glad to be in a place that was his own; here at least was a corner of earth of which he ivas master; it reas- sured him. The firelight dancing on the tea things was pleasant and homely, and the enclosing cosiness shut out the black roaring world that threatened to engulf his personality. His spirits rose, ever ready to jump at a trifle. ' The morrow, however, was the first of his lugubrious time. ° It he had been an able man he might have found a place in his classes to console him. Many youngsters are conscious of a vast depression when entering the por- tals of a Univei-sity; they feel themselves inadequate to cope with the wisdom of the ages gamere.1 in the solid walls They onvy alike the smiling sureness of the genial charlatan (to whom Professors are a set of fools) and the easy mastery of the man of brains. They have a cowering sense of their own inefl^ciency. But the [171] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS feeling of uneasineas presently dirappearg. The first •hivering dip is soon forgotten by the l.earty brcaster of the waves. But ere you breast the waves you must swim; and to swim through the sea of learning was more than heavy-headed Oourlay could accomplish. His mind, finding no solace in work, was left to prey upon itself. If he had been the ass toUl and complete ho might have loafed in the comfortable haze which surrounds the average intelligence, and cushions it against the world. But in Gourlay was a rawness of nerve, a sensi- tiveness to physical impression, which kept him fretting and stewing, and never allowed him to lapse on a slug- gish indiiTerence. Though he could not understand things, he could not escape them; they thrust themselves fonvard on his notice. We hear of poor genius cursed with perceptions which it can't express; poor Gourlay was cursed with impressions which he couldn't intellectual- ize. With little power of thought, he had a vast power of observation; and as everything he observed in Edin- burgh was offensive and depressing, he was constantly depressed— the more because he could not understand. At Barbie his life, though equally void of mental inter- est, was solaced by surroundings which he loved. In Edinburgh his surroundings were apj Jling to his timid mmd. .There was a greeng.ocer's shop at the comer of the street in which he lodj^ed, and he never passed it without being conscious of its trodden and decaying leaves. They were enough to make his morning foul. The middle-aged woman, who had to handle carrots with her frozen fingers, was less wretched than he who saw [172] CHAPTER SIXTEEN her, and thought of her after he went by. A thousand such impressions came boring in upon his mind, and made him squirm. He could not toss them aside like the callous and manly; ht- could not see them in their due relation, and think them \inimportant, like the able- they were always recurring and suggesting woe. If he fled to his room, he was followed by his morbid sense of an unpleasant world. He conceived a rankling hatred of the four walls wherein he had to live. Heavy Bibli- cal pictures, in frames of gleaming black like the splin- ters of a hearse, were hung against a dark ground. Every time Gourlay raised his head he scowled at them with eyes of gloom. It was curious that, hating his room he was loth to go to bed. He got a habit of sit- ting till three in the morning, staring at the dead fire in sullen apathy. He was sitting at nine o'clock one evening, wondering If there was no means of escape from the wretched life he had to lead, when he received a letter from Jock Allan, asking him to come and dine. [173] Mie«ocory iesoiution tbt chait (ANSr ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) i^H^Ui J^ /APPLIED IIVMGE In 1«53 Eait Wain StrMt Rochester. N«i> Yori. )4609 U^ (T16) 482 - 0300 - Phone "^ (716) 288-5989 - fo* XVII That dinner was a turning-point in young Gourlay's career. It is luclty that a letter describing it has fallen into the hands of the patient chronicler. It was sent by young Jimmy Wilson to his mother. As it gives an idea — which is slightly mistaken — of Jock Allan, and an idea — which is very unmistakable — of young Wilson, it is here presented in the place of pride. It were a pity not to give a human document of this kind all the hon- our in one's power. " Dear mother," said the wee sma' Scoatchman — so the hearty Allan dubbed him — " Dear mother, I just write to inform you that I've been out to a grand dinner at Jock Allan's. He met me on Prince's Street, and made a great how-d'ye-do. ' Come out on Thursday night, and dine with me,' says he, in his big way. So here I went out to see him. I can tell you he's a warmer! I never saw a man eat so much in all my bom days — but I suppose he would be having more on his table than usual, to shew off a bit, knowing us Barbie boys would be writing home about it all. And drink! D'ye know? — he began with a whole half tumbler of whiskey, and how many more he had I really should not like to say! And he must be used to it, too, for it seemed to have no effect on him whatever. And then he smoked and smoked — two great big cigars after we had finished eating, and then ' damn it ' says he — ^he's [174] CHAPTER SEVENTEEN an awful man to swear — ' damn it ' he says, ' there's no satisfaction m cigars; I must have a pipe,' and he actu- ally smoked four pipes before I came away! I noticed the cigars were called ' Estorellas — Best Quality,' and when I was in last Saturday night getting an ounce of shag at the wee shoppie round the corner, I asked the price of 'these Estorellas.' 'Nincpence a piece!' said the bodie. Just imagine Jock Allan smoking eighteenpence — and not being satisfied! He's up in the world since he used to shaw turnips v t Loranogie for sixpence a day! But he'll come down as quick if he keeps on at yon rate. He made a great phrase with me, hut though it keeps down one's weekly bill to get a meal like yon — I declare I wasn't hungry for two days — ■ for all that I'll go very little about him. He'll be the kind that borrows money very fast — one of those harum- scarum ones! " Criticism like that is a boomerang that comes back to hit the emitting skull with a hint of its kindred woodcn- ness. It reveals the writer more than the written of. Allan was a bigger man than you would gather from Wilson's account of his Gargantuan revelry. He had a genius for mathematics — a gift which crops up, like music, in the most unexpected comers — and from ploughboy and herd he had become an actuary in Auld Reekie. Wilson had no need to be afraid, the meagre fool, for his host could have bought him and sold him. Allan had been in love with young Gourlay's mother when she herself was a gay young fliskie at Tenshilling- land, but his little romance was soon ended when Gour- lay came and whisked her away. But she remained the one romance of his life. Xow in his gross and jovial [175] THE HOUSE -WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS middle-age he idealized her in memory (a sentimentalist, of course— he was Scotch); he never saw her in h»r scraggy misery to be disillusioned; to him she was still the wee bit leirdie's dochter, a vision that had dawned on his wretched boyhood, a pleasant and pathetic mem- ory And for that reason he had a curious kindness to her boy. That was why he introduced him to his boon companions. He thought he was doing him a good It was true that Allan made a phrase with a withered wisp of humanity like young Wilson. Not that he failed to see through him, for he christened him "a dried washing-clout.'- But Allan, like most great-hearted fecots far from their native place, saw it through a veil of sentiment; harsher features that would have been ever-present to his mind if he had never left it, disap- peared from view, and left only the finer qualities bright withm his memory. And idealizing the place he ideal- ized Its sons. To him they had a value not their own ]ust because they knew the brig and the bum and the brae, and had sat upon the school benches. He would have welcomed a dog from Barbie. It was from a like generous emotion that he greeted the bodies so warmly on his visits home-he thought they were as pleased to see him, as he was to see them. But they imputed false motives to his hearty greetings. Even as they shook his hand the mean ones would think to themselves: _What does he mem by this, now? What's he up till? JNo doubt he'll be wanting something off me! " They could not understand the gusto with which the returned eiale cried " Aye man, Jock Tamson, and how are ye? " They thought such warmth must have a sinister inten- [176] CHAPTER SEVENTEEN tion.— A Scot revisiting his native place ought to walk very quietly. For the parish is sizing him up. There were two things to be said against Allan, and two only— unless, of course, you consider drink an ob- jection. Wit with him was less the moment's glitter- ing flash than the anecdotal bang; it was a fine old crusted blend which he stored in the cellars of his mind to bring forth on suitable occasions, as cob-webby as his wine. And it tickled his vanity to have a crowd of admiring youngsters round him to whom he might retail his anecdotes, and play the brilliant raconteur. He had cronies of his own years and he was lordly and jovial amongst them— yet he wanted another entourage. He was one of those middle-aged bachelors who like a train of youngsters behind them, whom they favour in return for homage. The wealthy man who had been a peasant lad delighted to act the jovial host to sons of petty magnates from his home. Batch after batch as they came up tt College v e drawn around him— partly because their homage }, sed him and partly because he loved anything whatever that came out of Barbie. There was no harm in Allan— though when his face was in repose you saw the look in his eye at times of a man defrauding his soul. A robustious young fellow of sense and brains would have found in this lover of books and a bottle not a bad comrade. But be was the worst of cronies for a weak swaggerer like Gouriay. For Gour- lay, admiring the older man's jovial power, was led on to imitate his faults, to think them virtues and a credit —and he lacked the clear cool head that kept Allan's faults from flying away with hun. At dinner that night there were several braw braw lads [177] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS of Barbie Water. There was Tarmillan the doctor (a son of Irrendavie). Logan the cshier. Tozer the Enl! «nH"J!T/ °'.^ '^'"^°-'' «""«"'"' '^"'l ""quiring min^ and half-a-dozen students raw from the West. The stu- dents were of the kind that goes up to College w.th the hay-seed stiekmg in its hair. Two are in a Colonial Cabmet now, two are in the poor-house. So they go • ^"'"'"'«'7'^ the last to arrive. He eame in fuck- ing h,s thumb into which he had driven a splinter while conducting an experiment. I never get a jag from a pin but I see myself in the STLh " T T'^T'"'' ""•> ""y '•-d'on one end of a table my heels on the other, and a doctor standing on my navel trymg to reduce the curvature." ^ •Gosh! " said Partan, who was a literal fool, " is that the treatment they purshoo?" ,««7^' nu'^'J'""'""'" " '"^ TarmiUan, sizing up his ^ ., 7 ^ goW-mining in Tibet, one of our carriers who died of lockjaw had such . circumbendibus Th" wL t "' "■"" ^"^ "'"' "«"^« '>>'" *« hoop of a bucket to carry our water in. You see he was a thin oit man, and iron was scarce." " nw '"''°' " "'f ^^'**"' " y^'^e been in Tibet? " Often, waved TarmiUan, "often! I used to go there every summer." ^ Partan, who liked to extend his geographical know! edge, would have talked of Tibet for tte^rest of he evTn-" brLTn """''^ '''"* '"'^ ''™ ''^^^''"t Allan " How's the book, TarmiUan? " he enquired [178] CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Tarmillan was engaged on a treatise which those who are competent to judge consider the best thing of its kind ever written. " Oh, don't ask me," he writhed. " Man, it's an irk- some thing to write, and to be asked about it makes you squirm. It's almost as offensive to ask a mai when hi.i book will be out, as to ask a woman when she'll be de- livered. I'm glad you invited me— to get away from the confounded thing. It's become a blasted tyrant. A big work's a mistake; it's a monster that devours the brain. I neglect my other work for that fellow of mine; he bags everything I think. I never light on a new thing, buc ' Hullo! ' I cry, ' here's an idea for the book! ' If you are engaged on a big subject all your thinking works into it or out of it." " M' yes," said Logan, " but that's a swashing way of putting it." " It's the danger of the aphorism," said Allan, " that it states too much in trying to be small. Tozer, what do j'ou think? " " I never was engaged on a big subject," sniffed Tozer. " We're aware o' that! " said Tarmillan. Tozer went under, and Tarmillan had the table. Allan was proud of him. " Courage is the great thing," said he. " It often succeeds by the mere show of it. It's the timid man that a dog bites. Run at him and he runs." lie was speaking to himself rather than the table, admiring the courage that had snubbed Tozer with a word. But his musing remark rang a bell in young Gourlay. By Jove he had thought that himself, so he had! He was a hollow thing, he knew, but a buckram [179] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS pretence prevented the world from piercing to his hollowness The son of his courageous sirf (whom he equally admired and feared) had learned to play th" same of bluff. A bold front was half the battk ^ He had worked out his little theory, and it was with a shock it P'!^^"'« the timid youngster heard groat Allan gTve ISthattoo"™' *° '^' ''^'" ^°^ '•'^^ ''« '""^ So ,'n M r'"" 1'"'"1'''* °^ *'•« ^^J'- ^"^ the firs! time m the.r hves they heard ideas (such as they were) flung round them royally. They yeamed to shoVtl a they were thinkers, too. And Oourlay was fired S "I heard a very good one the other day from old Bauldy Johnston," said Allan, opening his IuIZm^ of stories when the dinner was in full swin<r Ail certain stage of the evening " I heard a good one" ^ the invariable keynote of his talk. If you displaved ^Bi/" "'^".*h«;good on." he l^ Sl- Bauldy was up in Edinburgh," he went on, "and I met him near the Scott Monument and took him to Lockhar^'s for a dram. You remember ,. at a friend he used to be of old Will Overton. I wasn't aware bv the bye, that Will wa. dead till Bauldy toW m? "'^I .as a great fella. n,y fnen. Will; he rang out in yfn last' fo^v""''^^ ""^ "^f " ''"""^'^ phrase-maker for the last forty year," said Tarmillan. '-lut every other Scots peasant has the gift. To hear ^nglishml talk [180] CHAPTER SEVENTEEN you would tliink Carlyle was unique for the word tliat sends the picture homc-they give the man the credit of his race. But I've heard fifty things better than ' wil- lowy man,' in the stable a-hame on a wat day in hairst— Mty things better!— from men just sitting on the com- Kists and chowing beans." " I know a better one than that," said Allai.. Tac- millan had told no story, you observe, but Allan was so accustomed to saying " I know a better one than that " that it escaped him before he was auare. " I roniuiii- ber when Bauldy went off to Paris on the si)ree He kept his mouth shut when he came back, for he was rather ashamed o' the outburst. But the bodies were keen to hear. ' What's the incense like in Notre Dame'' ' said Johnny Coe with hig e'en big. • Burning stink' ' said Bauldy." " I can cap that with a better one, still," said Tarmil- tan, who wasn't to be done by anv man. " I was witli Bauldy when he quarrelled Tarn Gibb of Hoochan-doe Hoochan-doe's a yelling ass, and he threatened Bauldy -oh, he would do this, and he would do that, and he would do the other thing. ' Damn ye, would ye threaten mef cned Bauldy. ' I'll gar your brains jaup red to the heavem!' And, I 'dare to God, sirs, a nervous man looked up to see if the clouds werena spattered with the gore! " ToEer cleared a sarcastic windpipe. MVhy do you clear your throat like that? " said Tar- millan— " like a craw with the croup, on a bare branch against a grey sky in November! If I had a throat like yours, I'd cut it and be done wi't." " I wonder what's the cause of that extraordinarv [ 181 ] THE HOUSE WrrH THE OHEEN 8H<;TTEM A^" n- 'Chi SniTf" " -«' from any vriHh to know ^ bickering tlun awa/down the Uble "'' *"°°"'"'' '^•' '^''eezy. What cockerel wa« thia crowing? M*. .... J, u,i.Vpi,!'."p,»r "'"'■■ *•'■' "■I"' His shirt stuck to hii bank tt, ground to open and swa.W 'him "" '''^^ '"'^^ '"^^ age iJooded ht y^inTtl f'^^'T'': ^ ^'"'•1^» «»•«- 8on, and, " WhTZ / . """' * '''°^' °" W"* gro^led.' lS. it tl'v «?•'"" r^^-^""^ *"" he p.ay;^thonghtr;?r^' r; stnk^ ^-^ "^^ ''^- Drink deadpnpH >. ^ " ™P ^'"' *he sniggerers. on h°s rfht and left LTtTT"*'"" °' *''«'"«- "^efng hinL^ r"*°"{ ^'^* "' risualization^r of -an7faLit°^;4Ute^^^^^ ''-<''" <« "« called it uy prompted the inference, that this was the [ 183 J CHAPTER SEVENTEEN faculty that sprang the metaphor. His theory was now clear and e.. uent before him. He was realizing for the the effect of whiskey to unloose the brain; sentences wen hurlmg through hi. brain with a tlieney that he drmk to hearten !um. he wo.,1,1 show w/lson and t"o rent that he wasn't such a blantcd fool! In . roou. by himself he would have spouted to the empty air Some s .ch point he had reached in the hurrying jum- ble of his thoughts, when Allan a.Idres^ed him Allan did no* mean his guest to be snubbed. He was a gentleman at heart, not a cad like Tozcr; and this bov was the son of a girl whose laugh he remembered in tho gloamings at Tenshillingland. Ipnli^t^ f"/ P"^"' ^'' " '"' ^'J '" ''•'"vy benevo- 1 m afraid you was interrupted " Gourlay felt his heart a lump in his throat, but ho rjshed into speech. "Metaphor comes from the power of seeing things nl „f r'f *i°^ ^<r' '"""''" ^''^ *'•« unconscious discl fiken/ w ''""« **'*'" ^° ^'"'l that you see the ikeness between t»em. When Bauldy Johnston said he th„„b-mark of his Maker was wet in the clay of \ .T- *.''* P"°* °^ " *humb in wet clay, and he »««- the Almighty making a man out of mud, the way He used to d. m the Garden of Eden langsyneLso Bauldy flashed he two idea, together and th. metaphor spr2^ A man 11 never make phrases unlecs he can see things m the middle of his brain. / can see things in the mid! die of my bram," ho went on cockily-" anything I want [183] THE HOUSE WITH TUP- r:»t-t... tor r , . " ™*^ "Ki-EN SIIl/TTERS come uS;„^te." """""^ «^--'ther. T,u, J.e JoL!""^ir;:;,a *°.{7 -tie«, the. thi„«,. "Piring bold John Baiewo™! T,'"*''' ^''° "?'*« »' m- ""■"••>. an.l Allan , van LTto^i *'" « «"•''•»? hi« little '""k it as a tribute to hH f ''""■ ""' """'•'"y ««H the proud ,„an„ "ki^ 'r^^ """''■ "''' '"" ''« t- .'in,m, Wilson, alld L^y Z j" r"T! " ''^" ""''^ 8low, he liked to make un t„ k ■ u ' "° «""'"' ""d s" wilder outbursts might amuse" V ^"""-^ '^"•'"*' '^''ose h« «luggiHh blood. No bTdln""- ^"^ •1'"'"^«°«<1 'n his heavy way, he 1, A / , "^ ""^ good-natured for the drink." T«sZ for I, '. ^T*'^'' '="" » "«'»« "oaks and never succ. lbs V ^""^ " ^ » ""^ -•>» serous a crony on tha TceonnJ ^p" ""^ ">" '""'« ^an- others grew drunk he Zi """"""'"^ '"ber while dn»m, always reTdy 'with a„"!f'"r,?'''^ '"^ """ther nonsense of his sateHi tes S^^ "''?.'''« ^°' *»•« "P'oring *'■« »mall hours, taking „o 2"°"^ ''" *''«'" ''""'^ '" never scorning hem becaurr ''f/-"*''*^^ °^" th^m, only laughing at thTir daft '^ ''°"'''"'* ™"7 it," '-ould gurglef «So."o J"^"^^- /"■! next dTy he -an if you had hearThis talk" ""?"*' 'f/'^''*' '^-^' He hated to drink by him elf «n7?u "^f "^ ""^ed it. youngster with-whom^o 'go ^ ^li^ " "^'^'^^^ [184] CHAPTER SEVENTEEN He wai attracted to Gv irlay by the manly way he toMed hi8 drmk. and by the faUe f.re it put into him But he made no immediate advance. He mt gmilini in creeahy benevolence, beaming on Oourlay but sayinL- nothmg. W hen the party was ended, however, he made up to him going through the door. «,x/'i; *'"^ *° '""" """ you, Mr. Oourlay," «.id he. Won t • .,u come round to the HowfT for a while? " I he 'lowff ? " said (iourlay. " \".*'" "*''' f'^K^n- " ''nven't ve hoard o't! Ifg a snug b>t hou8e. wliere go.ne of th.."\Vest Country billies foregather for a nicht at e'en. Oh, nothing to speak of. and tTnT^'"'' " '^""" '"^ " ^"^^ '° P*'' *''« •'">" °°'^ "Aha!" laughed Oourlay. "there's worse than a drink, by Jove. It puts smeddum in your blood! » Logan mppcd the guard of his art 'n heavy playful- nesg. and led him to the Howff [186] XTiii YouNo Gouriay had found a means of escaping from i t'waaTable^^ T' '"'^'°"^°^ "^ ^^^ --''«- ua ne was as alle a toper aa a publican eouM urjal, though they L thT\ .•^'■™ '•""S a"d GiUespie- wasn^ott rnirr.rpTuSi^'" s:c„;- »>« nervous antenn^o^ t^eSrsTh J Zl t iS T ofeve:,auditor. Distracted by ,atS Xt^S [186] CHAPTEK filttHTEEN the '^si':Torti':::xzrTi'''' f--^^ when he was drunk he w^Il % ^^ P'""*'" ^""^^og*. at, and free of S L he wl" "be/ "^^ V^'"^'' was driven to drink then h ^'"' 'P''*''^''- He acter. As nervlus hvnn' ^ '"i"^ "''"'"''' "^ '''^ "^ar- gerer. as a dulZl ''^P°.'=''°°'l"''«> a« would-be swag- drink to u'et^^^^/^'"^^ «t™ul"«. he found thft With his etnd ; r bf 'Z ''■" " '"""''''^'- " Phy, and that addfd to w ^ t' ^ °' P''"°«°- to feel the Big Conundrum K . f u "" *""' "^--v™ it-small blame to hTmfrtha?,in ^'M"""^ *" ^'"- cursed each other bllTk in tEe f P^'losophers have five thousand years Bn^^^f . T' '* ^"^ ^^^ ^<^i ocuu jiears. But it worried h m Ti. * and smister detail of the world TwKi' , ''^"^6 horror to his mind benl ' u ^^"^ "''*'«>'« ''«''" « ^timulusof futTle thought B^utwh 7'''''' '"'"^"* ^l"" cure. He was th^aZf , '"'''^y *"« *he mighty memorableTe '^rrri "''° ^'''"'"' notoriety on a damned: let us drfnk'" n '"*'r"'^'''*''P''y^'^'« be exr-essed the same oL . "" """^ "'"^"^ ^''^' have But GouHay's C e^u^a rrrre" Zw ''"" "■■■^^- another question. s'"cere. How sincere is Curiously, an utterance of «A„l,l t „ professors, half confirmed hfm int rr;;;" "^ "'' a tn^eSilto; tfieTonSi Jr' " "^ "'•' -'"^- "^ --othemiL^fr-^SXS^^S: [ 187 ] ® I i j THE HOUSE WITH THE GKEEN SHUTTERS est on the globe; intellectually, the philosopher alone dominates the world. To him are only two entities that matter, himself and the Eternal; or, if another, it is his fellow-man, whom serving he serves the ultimate of being. But he is master of the outer world. The mind, indeed, in its first blank outlook on life is terrified by the demoniac force of nature and the swarming misery of man; by the vast totality of things, the cold remote- ness of the starry heavens and the threat of the devour- ing seas. It is puny in their midst." Gourlay woke up, and the sweat broke on him. Great Heaven, had Tam been through it, tool "At that stage," quoth the wise man, " the mind is dispersed in a thousand perceptions and a thousand fears; there is no central greatness in the soul. It is assailed by terrors which men sunk in the material never seem to feel. Phenomena, uninformed by thought, be- wilder and depress." " Just like me! " thought Gourlay, and listened with a thrilling interest becau.se it was " just like him." " But the labyrinth," said Tam, with a ring in his voice as of one who knew—" the labyrinth cannot appal the man who has found a clue to its windings. A mind that has attained to thought lives in itself, and the world becomes its slave. Its formerly distracted powers rally home; it is central, possessing not possessed. The world no longer frightens, being understood. Its sinister fea- tures are accidents that will pass away, and they gradu- ally cease to be observed. For real thinkers know the value of a wise indifference. And that is why they are often the most genial men; unworried by the transient, they can smile and wait, sure of their eternal aim. The [188] CHAPTEH EIGHTEEN mn to whom the infinite beckons is not to be driven from h.8 mysfe quest by the ambush of a temporal 2 -there is no fear; it has ceased to exist. That is the comfort of a true philosophy_if a man accepts t no merely mechanically, from another, but feels it in breath and blood and every atom of his being With a warm surety in his heart, he is undaunted by the do^trman/'^^*' ^^""^'"^"' ^« ^'^^ ^^-^^' ^^^ alVZl'" *""'' ^°""'^' "''''''' ^^"^ -h'«k«y He't'!. y' "" V"""^' '''"*'' ^"^ '^hat whiskey did. He had no conception of what Tarn really meant-thcre were people indeed who used to think that Tarn neve Srvt r""?'T''- Theywereaslittleabl7: Gourlay to appreciate the mystic, through the radiant haze of whose mind thoughts loomed on you udd^n and big like mountain tops in a sunny mist, [he grandl fw S fT.t ^t^o^^l^y. though he could^not under to the fortitude descnbed. In the increased vitalitv if gave, he was able to tread down the world If he ta L on a wretched day in a wretched street, when hlw pened to be sober, his mind was hithe; and yon in a housand perceptions and a thousand fears, fasten^ to (and fastened to) each squalid thing around BuT^ith whiskey humming in his blood, he paced onward Tn a happy dream The wretched puddles by theway ?he c"ornfisrof;h ^r^--^ ^-^^'< ^^^^eZ- £'=:dio^t^:^rerrtari-i^- his own man again, the hero of his musing mind! Fo ' [ 189 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE.GBEEN SHUTTERS like all weak men of a vivid fancy, he was constantly framing dramas of which he was the towering lord. The weakling who never "downed" men in reality, was always "downing" them in thought. His imaginary triumpl:3 consoled him for his actual rebuffs. As he walked in a tipsy dream, he was " standing up " to some- body, hurling his father's phrases at him, making short work of him! If imagination paled, the nearest tavern supplied a remedy, and flushed it to a radiant glow. Whereupon he had become the master of his world, and not its slave. " Just iniaigine," h? thought, " whiskey doing for me what philosophy seems to do for Tam. It's a wonderful thing, the drink! " His second session wore on, and when near its close, Tam gave out the subject for the Raeburn. The Raeburn was a poor enough prize, a few books for an "essay in the picturesque," but it had a peculiar interest for the folk of Barbie. Twenty years ago it was won four years in succession by men from the valley; and the unusual run of luck fixed it in their minds. There- after when an unsuccessful candidate returned to his home, he was sure to be asked very pointedly, « Who won the Raeburn the year? " to rub into him their perception that he at least had been a failure. A bodie would dander slowly up, saying, " Aye, man, ye've won hame! " then, havmg mused awhile, would casually ask, " By- the-bye, who won the Raeburn the year?— Oh, it was a Perthshire man! It used to - me our airt, but we seem to have lost the knack o't! Oh, yes, sir. Barbie bred writers in those days, but the breed seems to have decayed." Then he would murmur dreamily, as if talk- [190] CHAPTEB EIGHTEEN t™ r,sr£:r "- '-""^ «■•-"" A very appropriate subject! " laiished th» f„]i qui'-; n the stvlp nt h:, '■"'gneo the fellows; T .u uic style 01 Jus own lecturps " P„- rr though wise and a humourist h»^ h;! ,*^<"^ ^am, used to lecture on Z7n I ' ^'°'^ ^°'"^- He Macbeth so he parcel edthT f "'""*'^^ "^ ^^y would an^unt rre";te,; "" ^^^r ' «"^ \« and^?S^f :t|:,^'« °- •'^ when hett that. woudknUheb^l" 'ooT'l' 7 """"^ ^« *>•« -« me Dram! Ooh-ooh, how it would go in' " [ 191 ] ^ • THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS A world of ice groaned round him in the night; bergs ground on each other and were rent in pain; he heard the splash of great fragmenU tumbled in the deep, and felt the waves of their distant falling lift the vessel be- neath him in the darkness. To the long desolate night came a desolate dawn, and eyes were dazed by the encir- cling whiteness; yet there flashed green slanting chasms in the ice, and towering pinnacles of sudden rose, lonely and far away. An unknown sea beat upon an unknown shore, and the ship drifted on the pathless waters, a white dead man at tl^e helm. "Yes, by Heaven," cried Gouriay, "I can see it all, I can see it all— that fellow standing at the helm, frozen white and as stiff's an icicle I " Yet, do what he might, he was unable to fill more than half a dozen small pages. He hesitated whether he should send them in, and held them in his inky fin- gers, thinking he would bum them. He was full of pitv for his own inability. " I wish I was a clever chap," he said mournfully. ^^ "Ach, well, I'll try my luck," he muttered at last, though Tarn may guy me before the whole class, for domg 80 little o't." The Professor, however (unlike the majority of Scotch Professors), rated quality higher than quantity. I have learned a great deal myself," he announced on the last day of the session, « I have learned a great deal myself from the papers sent in on the subject of an ' Arctic Night.' " " Hear, hear! " said an insolent student at the back. "Where, where?" said the Professor, "stand up nrl " " [193] CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A gigantic Borderer rose blushing into view and WM greeted with howls of derision by his fellowsTam eyed him, and he winced. '"leiioHs. ram the' hour »"i.T A ^"* '" ""^ P"""*^ ™<"» "' th« «"<! °f the hour said Aqmnas, as the students used to call ?h« w"? '^^\'^'' " "•" " ?'"«« t« bray in." The giant sunk down, trying to hide himself, les, said Tam, " I have learned wliat a poor sense of proportion some of you students seem to We «as not to see who could write the most, but who could KrS'chi iSTsih'n^t r s-r--^'^''^- thethi/gso"hty,«tltS;r^-;^^^^ Svir, "'"^ "L»«-*ort,theartTftieJ --' reproving voicT « O-, 1 /f ^?™ "^ '*"«''*'''•' """J « (1,»~ J ' *" P°''' JfaeTa-avish! " whereat groan. Oh, why tid I leave my home! " to which « *o.ce responded in mocking antiphone "W^Jii^ cross ta teep? " The nn.V. " 'P"""*' "^y ^'d you Holyrood. ^^ """''' ''"' ''e^d »* VVhen the tumult and the shouting died Tam resum H tickled h.m too. " Now, gentlemen," he said, "I don't [193] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS judge essays by their weight, though I'm told they Bometimes pursue that method in Glasgow! " (Groans for the rival University, cries of "Oh-oh- ohl " and a weary voice, " Please sir, don't mention that place — it makes me feel quite ill.") The Professor allayed the tumult with dissuasive palm. "I believe," he said drily, "you call that noise of yours the College Tramp,' in the Scnatus we speak o't as the Cuddies' Trudge.'-Now, gentlemen, I'm not unwillmg to allow a little noise on the last day of the Bession, but really you. must behave more quietly.— So little do 38 that method of judging essays commend itself to me, I may tell you, that the sketch which I consider the best barely runs to half a dozen short pages." Young Gourlay's heart gave a leap within him; he felt It thudding on his ribs. The skin crept on him, and he breathed with quivering nostrils. Gillespie won- dered why his breast heaved. " It's a curious sketch," said the Professor. " It con- tains a serious blunder in grammar, and several mis- takes in spelling, but it shows, in some ways, a wonder- ful imagination." "Ho, ho! " thought Gourlay. " Of course there are various kinds of imagination," said Tam. " In its lowest form it merely recalls some- thing which the eyes have already seen, and brings it vividly before the mind. A higher form pictures some- thing which you never saw, but only conceived as a pos- sible existence. Then there's the imagination which not only sees but hears— actually hears what a man would say on a given occasion, and entering into his [194] CHAPTER EIGHTEEN fol*;. w'k^"" exaptly why he doeB it. The highe.t form M both creative and conrecmtive, if I may use the Zrti "n"?!^*.'." ^"^"^ *'""'«''*• I* '™diate. the world Of that high power there is no evidence in the eway before me. To be sure there waa little occasion for ita use." Young Gourlay'g thermometer went down. "Indeed," said Aquinas, "there's a curious want of bigness m the sketch-no large nobility of phrase It 18 written in gaspy little sentences, and each sentence begins ',nd'-' and '-'and.' like a schoolboy's narra- tive It 8 as If a number of impressions had seized the writer s mind, which he jotted down hurriedly, lest they should escape h,m But, ju.t because it's so little wordy, t gets the effect of the thing-faith, sirs, it's right on to the end of it every time! The writing of some folk is nothing but a froth of word^lucky if it glistens with- 2; If." ^ •"■■ "^ "^^'^"''^ f«a>"- But in this sketch there 8 a perception at the back of eveiy sen- « worid?^' "'"'' *°° "^"^°'" " -- °^ t''" del'ib^Zi """"'ly}"^ "'« «t"dent8, who were being deliberately worked by Tam to a high pitch of cu "I would strongly impress on the writer," said the shepherd heedless of his bleating sheep, "I would strongly impress on the writer, to set himself down for a spell of real hard solid, and deliberate thought. That almost morbid perception, with philosophy to back it. m ght create an opulent and vivid mind. Without phi- losophy, It would simply be a curse. With philosophy, it would brmg thought the material to work on. Without [195] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS philo«,phy. it would .imply diitract «id irritate the " Name, n«mel " cried the fellowa " il' M*" 7'u ""n °' *,'"' B"'>"™." "id Thomw Aquinw 18 Mr. John Gourlay." H'"ua», Oourlay and hig friends made for the nearest public house The occasion, they thought, justified a Sk J he others chaffed Oourlay about Taii's advice «agc, what you have got to do next summer is to set yourself down for a spell of real, hard, solid and dehblr "fct J'^'^.'-M'"'" '«'"-' yo^ know." Hun and hig advicel " aaid Oourlay. [196] XIX There were only four other pawengerg dropped bv he eleven o'clock express at Skeigha,. stati„riL ' as ■t lapponed young Qourlay knew then. all. T ■ J we e petty merchants of the neighbourhood whom he had often seen about Barbie. The sight of their remem bered faces as he stepped on to the platfo ,„ gari™ 8 deUghtful sense that he was neuring hon.e He hid aTL thH ''r""^"^ ^"''' '^'"^^ ^« wa^no^dy at all, to the familiar circle where he was a somebody a nientio..m^^^ cau^! "Ihl" '"'""^ "' "uperiority to the othe™. too, be- trvelleSalir' "T '°''" r""'^"^ '^'"'« h" had travelled all the way from mighty Edinburgh by the late express. He was returning from the outer world whUe they were bits of bodies who had only been to Feeha« AsEdmbijrgh was to Fechars so was he to them. Roum him was the halo of distance and the mystery of night travelling. He felt big. J J- "^ mgnt "Have you a match, Robert?" he asked very gra- ciously of Robin Gregg, one of the porter! Xm he i"'Z li?2f o'n' "■"•;'' '■;'" " "'^'™"«= »^ "he^ oI^«mt f K ?''"'-* P"*^' *"™«<J " «^««y round to examine its burning end. " Rotten! " he said and ing him, and he knew it. When the station-master ap- [ 197 ] ^ THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS peared yawning from his office, as he wm paMins tlirough tl.« gate, and a^ked who it wut, it Hattered hia vanity to hear Hobin's answer, that it was "young Mr Uourlay of Barbie, just back from tlie Univ-ai-mity! " He had been ao hot for home tha- he had left Edin- burgh at twilight, too eager to wait for the morrow. Ihere was no train for Barbie at this hour of the night- and of course, there was no gig to meet him. Even if he had sent word of his coming: " There's no need for travelling so late," old Oourlay would have growled- let him shank it! >Ve're in no hurry to have him home. He set off briskly, eager to see his mother and tell her he had won the Raebum. The consciousness of his achievement danced in his blood, and made the road light to his feet. His thoughts were not with the coun- try round him, but entirely in the moment of his en- trance, when he should proclaim his triumph, with proud enjoyment of his mother's pride. His fancy swept to his journey's end, and took his body after, so that the long way was as nothing, annihilate by the leap forward of his mind. ^ He was too vain, too full of himself and his petty triumph, to have room for the beauty of the night The sky was one sea of lit cloud, foamy ridge upon rid^ over all the heavens, and each wave was brimming w.Jh ^s own whiteness, seeming unborrowed of the moon. Through one peop-hole. and only one, shone a distant .lll^ "^1 T^^ ^" "^^y' •^™'"«' by the nearer splendours of the sky. Somet mes the thinning edge of a cloud brightened in spume, and round the brightness came a circle of umber, making a window of fantastic [198] CHAPTER NINETEEN ta"«.. Ill Mil .mom fc ,„„ „! „ r J T' -™.ir.nir"r"'""-*.™^^^^ fr, b„f »"• '"'«"' ""• »■' I.. ~rtX t 'K»a.»,.„„.:K ,„t,f axes I 199 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS hand. The very smell of the dog was couthie in his nose. The window of a bedroom went up with a crash. " Now, then, who the devil are you? " came the voice of old Gourlay. " It's me, faither," said John. " Oh, it's you, is it? This is a fine time o' night to come home." " Faither, I have — I have won the Raeburn! " " It'll keep, my mannie, it'll keep "—and the window slammed. Next moment it was up. " Did young Wilson get onything? " came the eager cry. " Nut himl" said John. " Fine, man! Dam'd, sir, I'm proud o' ye! " John went round the comer treading on air. For the first time in his life his father had praised him. He peeped through a kink at the side of the kitchen- blind, where its df scent was arrested by a flowerpot, in the comer of the window-sill. As he had expected, though it was long past midnight, his mother was not yet in bed. She was folding a white cloth over her boaom, and about her, on the backs of chairs, there were other such cloths, drying by the fire. He watched her curiously — once he seemed to hear a whimpering moan. When she buttoned her dress above the cloth, she gazed sadly at the dying embers, the look of one who has gained short respite from a task of painful tendance on the body, yet is conscious that the task and the pain are endless, and will have to be endured, to-morrow and to- morrow, till she dies. It was the fixed gaze of utter [200] CHAPTEK NINETEEN anSa.^ hI tJ^^::ZlZ TIT "^ '^'^ ^" ^- She came close to h"m and <5oh '»'t' '"^°'»"°"- smiling whisper, big-eyed 1 J "' f ' ^'"^ '" " "v^ould ye like ^ drlm?" ' u '^°'"'' . «''« breathed, pounding a roguish nlan in .„ f *' *''* "'"^ P™" He laughed "Well " h. ^'.f" 'conspiracy. ^-S^^f7^tlZ^,^f^:^^^^ He and, « By Jove " said hp „ '™™ *", "'e clinking glass, " Where's Ja^e"" S' askedwS' ^ I "°^ *''"°«' " wanted another worshipper ^'° '''' "''"™«'J- «« raying that sheS^ I twhf'r'''v "^''^'^^'^^^^^ she might be a wee helo hnf I . ° '^^ ^'^ "P *"* ;;2-has. AtweeuS'/r^ralJr^-^^^^ th^t ri-'r ttrpi^mr b^^ -- '«« from infancy they have known. ^ ^ ^ ^^^"8 Boon; of nature liL th'e ^Z^:Z'^^^..T'^'''' '^'^'^ to remain. But the young who hlv.? """^''^ *^™ SIX months are often strun! h . ''*^" ""'''y for their elde. on r^L^LmV K '~ '" -.ottering, her ea?t.^---;^^^^ THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS brown liair swept low on her blue-veined temples. xVbove and below her lips there was a narrow margin of the purest white. " Mother," he said anxiously, " you're not ill, are ye? What do ye need so many wee clouts for? " She gasped and started. "They're just a wheen clouts I was sorting out," she faltered.—" No, no, dear, there's noathing wrong wi' me." " There's one sticking in your blouse," said he, and pointed to her slack breast. She glanced nervously down and pushed it further in. " I daresay I put it there when I wasna thinking," she explained. But she eyed him furtively to see if he were still looking. [302] XX sue^ces?" ;V°*^S """^ *«' " weakling than a small success. The strong man tosses it beneath his feet as ■, s ep to nse higher on. He squeezes it into its proper place as a layer in the life he is buildin,;. If his mem- ory dwells on it for a moment it is only because 7Tu vahable result, not because in itself it'is a theme fo Hhni itf ' ^' ^'^^"^ """• ^'^""^ he values not «;i„« *''r''f "«« °f getting it, viewing his actual the^rr^' ^ M 71 '° ''^"^'- " '' this pitiful thing, then, all that I w.led for? " Finer natures often expert- bv thot.t 1 r * ?"'*''• ^"' "■« ^""l « ^ pollen work tnf« ^7'?*'"y *«t he is unfit for all healthy work till somebody jags him and lets the gas out He never forgets the great thing he fancies ue did thirty years ago, and expects the world never to forget it either. The more of a weakling he is, and the more incapable of repeating his former triumph, the more he thinks of it; and the more he thinks of it the more it satisfies his ^eagre soul and prevents him essaying another brave venture m the world. His petty achievement ruins him. h„l?„'"T7,l'*u°''''' '*"'^"' him, but swells to a huge balloon that ifts him off his feet and carries him heav- ens-high-till It lands him on a dunghill. Even from tril^^W I'""'T.' '•' "" cock-a-doodles his former tnumph to the world. " Man, you wouldn't think to see [203] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS me here that I once held a great position! Thirty year back, I did a big thing. It was like this, ye see." And then follows a recital of his faded glories — generally ending with a hint that a drink would be very accept- able. Even such a weakling was young Gourlay. His suc- cess ;n Edinburgh, petty as it was, turned his head, and became one of the many causes working to destroy him. All that aiunmer at Bitrbie he swaggered and drank mh the strength of it. , On the morning after his return he clothed himsalf in fine raiment (he was always well-dressed till the end came), and sallied forth to dominate the town. As he swaggered past the Cross, smoking a cigarette, he seemed to be conscious that the very walls of the houses watched him with unusual eyes, as if even they felt that yon was John Gourlay whom they had known as a boy, proud wearer now of the academic wreath, the conquering hero returned to his home. So Gourlay figured them. He, the disconsidered, had shed a lustre on the ancient walls. They were tributaries to his new importance — someho / their attitude was different from what it had ever been before. It was only his self-conscious bigness, of course, that made even inanimate things seem the feeders of his greatness. As Gourlay, always alive to obscure emotions which he could never express in words, mused for a moment over the strange new feeling that had come to him, a gowsterous voice hailed him from the Black Bull door. He turned, and Peter Wylie, hearty and keen like his father, stood him a drink in honour of his victory — which was already buzzed about the town. [204] CHAPTER TWENTY Drucken Wabster's wife had scuii to that. " Ou " she cried, " his mother's daft about it, the silly aul'd thing; she can speak o' noathing else. Though Gourlay gies her very little to come and go on, she slipped him a whole sovereign this morning, to keep his pouch! Ihmk o that, kimmers; heard ye ever sic extravagance' I saw her doin'd wi' my own eyes. It's aince wud and aye waur* wi' her, I'm thinking. But the wastefu' wife's t.1e waefu widow, she should keep in mind. She's far owre browdened upon yon boy. I'm sure I howp good may come o't, but-" and with an ominous shake of the head she ended the Websterian harangue. When Peter VVylie left him Gourlay lit a cigarette and stood at the Cross, waiting for the praises yet to be. Ihe Deacon toddled forward on his thin shanks. "Man Dyohn, you're won hame, I thee! Aye man! And how are ye?" ^Gourlay surveyed him with insolent, indolent eyes. Oh, I m all rai-ight. Deacon," he swaggered, " how are ye-ow? " and he sent a puff of tobacco-smoke down through his nostrils. " I declare! " said the Deacon. " I never thaw ony- body thmoke like that before! That'll be one of the thmgth ye learn at College, no doubt." "Ya-as," yawned Gourlay; «it gives you the full flavour of the we-eed." 'he Deacon glimmered over him with his eves. " The weed, 'said he. " Jutht tho! Imphm. The weed " Then worthy Mister Allardyce tried another opening. But, dear me! " he cried, « I'm forgetting entirely. I [206] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS must congratulate ye! Ye've been doing wonderth. they tell me, up in Embro." " Just a little bit," swaggered Gourlay, right hand on outshot hip, left hand flaunting a cigarette in air most delicate, tobacco-smoke curling from his lofty nose Ho looked down his face at the Deacon. " Just a little bit Mr. Allardyce, just a little bit. I tossed the thine off in a twinkling." " Aye man, Dyohn," said the Deacon with great solici- tude, but you maunna work that brain o' yours too hard though. A heid like yours doesna come through the hatter's hand ilka day o' the week; you mutht be careful not to put too great a thtrain on't. Aye aye- often the best machine's the easiest broken and the warst to mend. You should take a rest and enjoy your- self. But there! what need I be telling ijou that' \ College-bred man like you kenth far better about it than a thilly auld country bodie! You'll be meaning to have a grand holiday and lots o' fun— a dram now and then eh? and mony a rattle in the auld man's gig? " At this assault on his weak place Gourlay threw away his important manner with the end of his cigarette. He could never maintain the lofty pose for more than five . minutes at a time. "You're righi, Deacon," he said, nodding his head with splurging sincerity. « I mean to have a dem'd good holiday. One's glad to get back to the old place after six months in Edinburgh." "Atweel," said the Deacon. "But, man, have yon tried the new whiskey at the Black Bull— I thaw ye in wi' Pate Wylie? It'th extr'omar gude-thaft as the thang o' a mavis on a nicht at e'en, and fiery as a High- [206] CHAPTER TWENTY land charge."_It wa« not in charactor for the Dea- con to say such a thing, but whiskey makes the meanest of Scots poetical. He elevates the manner to the mat- ter, and attains the perfect style.-" But no doubt," the cunnmg old pryer went on, with a smiling suavity in his voice, " but no doubt a man who knowth Edinburgh tho well as you, will have a favourite blend of hith own I notice that University men have a fine taste in thpints." "I generally prefer ' Kinblythmont's Cure,'" said Wourlay with the air of a connoisseur. " But ' Ander son's Sting o- Delight ' 's very good, and so's ' BalsiUie's ■Bng o the Mains.' " "^y^'^i^t^^Deii^on. "Aye, aye! 'Brig o' the Mains ith what Jock Allan drinks. He'll pret noath- Embro." " ^'"^ ^"^ *'' " ^"'* ^'"^ °* '•''» ^ "Oh every week," swaggered Gourlay. "We're always together, he and I." " Alwayth thegither! " said the Deacon tL *" "■'" ^'"^ *° -^^-^ Richmond's son burde^T TT ""-"^ ''"* ""* *° *« ^^'t*'"* of being burdened with the cub half a dozen times a week to dlT "' "r'^ boasting-aa young blades are apt to do of acquaintance with older roisterers. They think 1 makes them seem men of the world. And in his de- r«er rr. A n" ™'"™"'««hip with Anan, John failed oyster ^^^"^^^ "^^^ scooping him out like an « Aye man/' resumed the Deacon; « he's a heartv fel- low, Jock. No doubt you have the great thprees" " [ 807 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " Sprees! " gurgled tiourlay, and flung back his Iioad with a laugh. " I should think we have. There was a great foy at Allan's the night before I left Edinburgh. Tarmillan was there— d'ye know, yon's the finest fellow I ever met in my life!— and Bauldy Logan- he's another great chap. Then there was Armstrong and Gillespie great friends of mine— and damned clever fellows they are, too, I can tell jou. Besides us three there were half a dozen more from the College. You should have heard the talk! And every man-jack was as drunk as a lord. The last thing I remember is some of us students dan- cing round a lamp-post while Logan whistled a jig." Though Gourlay the elder hated the Deacon, he had never warned his son to avoid him. To have said " AUardyce is dangerous " would have been to pay the old malignant too great a complin., at; it would have been beneath John Gourlay to admit that a thing like AUardyce could harm him and his. Young Gourlay, therefore, when once set a-going by the Deacon's deft management, blu ted everything without a hankei Even so, however, he felt that he had gone too far. He glanced anxiously at his companion. " Mum's the word about this, of course," he said with a wink. " It would never do for this to be known about the 'Green Shutters.' " "Oh, I'm ath thound ath a bell, Dyohn, I'm ath thound ath a bell," said the Deacon. "Aye man! You jutht bear out what I have alwayth underthood about the men o' brainth. They're the heartiest devilth after a'. Bums, that the baker raves so muckle o', was jutht another o' the thame. .Tutht another o' the thame! We'll be hearing o' you bovs — Pate Wylie and you and a [808] niAPTKrj TWENTY wheen iiiair-lmviug raio ploys in Barbie tlirough the thummer. "Oh, we'll kick up a bit of a dust," Uourlay Bniijeered, well-pleased. Had not the Deacon .anked him in the robustious great company of Bums! " I say. Deacon come in and have a nip." ' ^' There's your faither," grinned the Deacon. Eh? What? " cried Gourlay in alarm, and started round, to see his father and the Rev. M.. .Jtruthers ad- vancing up the Fechars Road. « Eh-eh-Deacon-I —I II see you again about the nip." "Jutht tho!" grinned the Deacon. "We'll post- pone the drink to a more convenient opportunity." He toddled away, having no desire that old Gouriay should find him talking to his son. If Gourlay sus- pected him of pulling the young fellow's leg, likely as not he would give an exhibition of his dem'd unpleasant manners! Gouriay and thi minister came straight towards the student. Of the Bev. Mr. Struthers it may be said with truth that he would have cut a remarkable figure in any society. He had big splay feet, short stout legs, and a body of such bulging bulbosity, that all the droppings of his spoon— which were many— were caught on the round of his black waistcoat, which always looked as if it had just been spattered by a grey shower. His eye-brows were bushy and white, and the hairs slanting up and out rendered the meagre brow even narrower than it was. His complexion, more especially in cold weather, was a dark crimson. The purply colour of his face was in- teneified by the pure whiteness of the side whiskers pro- jecting stiffly by his ears, and in mid-week, when he was r309] , ? I ; ! 'i THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS unshaven, hig redneHs revealed more plainly, in turn, the short gleaming stubble that lay like rime on his chin. His eyes goggled, and his manner at all times was that of a staring and earnest self-importance. " Puffy Importance " was one of his nicknames. Struthers was a man of lowly stock who, after a ten years' desperate battle with hig heavy brains, succeeded at the long last of it in passing the examinations required for the ministry. The influence of a wealthy patron then presented him to Barbie. Because he had taken so long to get through the University himself, he constantly raagnifled the place in his conversation, partly to excuse his own slowness in getting through it, partly that the greater glory might redound on him who had con- quered it at last, and issued from its portals a fat and prosperous alumnus. Stupid men who have mastered a system, not by intuition but by a plodding effort of glow years, alwayg exaggerate its importance— did it not take them ten years to understand it?— whoso has passed the system, then, is to their minds one of a close corporation, of a select and intellectual few, and entitled to pose before the uninitiate. Because their stupidity made the thing difficult, their vanity leads them to exalt it. Woe to him that shall scoff at any detail! To Struthers the Senatus Academicus was an august assem- blage worthy of the Boman Curia, and each petty aca- demic rule was a law sacrosanct and holy. He was for- ever talking of the " Univairsity." "Mind ye," he would say, " it takes a loang time to understand even the workings of the TTnivairsity- the Senatus and such- like; it's not for everyone to criticise." He implied, of course, that he had a right to criticise, having passed tri- [210] CHAPTER TWENTY umphant through the mighty test. Thi« vanity of his WM fed by 8 peculiar vanity of some Scotg pea«ant8, who like to di«cuM Divinity Halls, and «, on, becau«. to talk of these things shews that they, too, are intelligent men, -nd know the awful intellectual ordeal required of a Meenister." When a peasant says " He went through his Arts course in three years, and got a kirk the .no- ment he was licensed," he wants you to see that he's a smart man himself, and knows what he's Ulking of There were several men in Barbie who liked to talk in that way, and among them Puffy ImporUncc, when Kra- ciously inclined, found ready listeners to his pompous blether about the " Univairsity." But what he liked best of all was to stop a ncwly-rctumcd student in full view of the people, and talk learnedly of his courses- dear me, aye-of his courses, and his matriculations, and his lectures, and his graduations, and his thingum- bobs. That was why he bore down upon our great essay- " Allow me to congratulate you, John," he said, with heavy solemnity-for Struthers always made a eongre- gation of his listener, P.nd droned as if mounted for a sermon. "Ye have done excellentl- well this Session; ye have indeed. Ex-cellently well! Ex-cellently well! » Gourlay blushed and thanked him. " Tell me now," said the cleric, " do you mean to take .your Arts course in three years or four? A loang Arts course is a grand thing for a clairgyman. Even if he tTme!" ' •^'"" °°'* ^^ '"'°'' ^^ ''»"*'"*? •>« Gourlay glanced at his father. « I mean tc try't in three, he said. His father had threatened him that he [211] THE HOUSE WITH THE (4KEEN KHl ITERS inuHt gvl tliruugli liis Mtn ill tliruu yean — without deigning, of counc, to give any rvaion (or the threat. " We-cU," saiil Mr. Struthers, gazing down the Fech- arit Itnad, «8 if viaioning great things, " it will require a strenuous and devoted application — a ntrunuous and de- voted application — even from the nian of abeelity you have shown yourself to be. Tell me now," he went on, " have ye heard ainything of the now Professor of Exe- gesis? D'ye know how he's doing? " Young Uourlay knew nothing of the new Professor of Exegesis, but he answered, " Very well, I believe," at a venture. " Oh, he's sure to do well, he's sure to do well! He's one of the best men we have in the Church. I have just finished his book on the Epheesians. It's most pro- found! It bus taken nic a whole year to master it." (" Garvie on the Ephesians " is a book of a hundred and eighty pages.) "And, by the way," salJ the parson, stooping to Scotch in his ministerial jocoseness, " how's auld Tarn, in whose class you were a prize-win- ner? He was appointed to the Professoriate the same year that I obtained my license. I remember to have heard him deliver a lecture on German philosophy, and I thought it excellently jood. But perhaps," he added, with solemn and pondering brows, " perhaps he was a little too fond of Hegel. — Yess, I am inclined to think that he was a little too fond of Hegel." Mrs. Eccles, listening from the Black Bull door, wondered if Hegel was a drink. " He's very popular," said young Oourlay. "Oh, he's sure to be popular, he merits the very greatest popple-arity. And he would express himself aa [212] CIIAPTEU TWENTY being excellently well pleased »itli your theme? What did he lay of it, may I venture to enquire? " Beneath the prcuure of hiH father'8 presence young Oourlay did not dnro to splurge. " He «ceme<l to think there was something in it," lie answered, nimli-stly enough. " Oh, he would be sure to think there was something in it," said the minister, staring, and wagging his pow. " Not a doubt of tha-at, not a doubt of tha-at! TTiero must have been soiiiothing in it, to obtain the palm of victory in the face of such prmligiouii competection. It's the see-lect intellect of .Scotland that goes to tlio Univairsity, and only the ee-lect of the »oo-flect win the palm. And it's an augury of great good for the future. Abeelity to write is a splendid thing for the (. . .rch. Good-bye, John, and allow me to express once moar my great satisfaction that a parccshionor of mine is a la-ad of such brilliant jjromiB'-! " Though the elder Gourlay disconsidered the Church, and thought little of Mr. Struthers, he swelled with pride to think that the minister should stop his offspring in the Main Street of Barbie, to congratulate him on his prospects. They were close to the Emporium; and with the tail of his eye he could see Wilson peeping from the door, and listening to every word. This would be a hair in Wilson's neck! There were no clerical compli- ments for his son! The tables were turned at last. His father had a generous impulse to .lohn for the bright triumph he had won the Oourlays. He fumbled in his trouser-pocket, and passed him a sovereign. " I'm kind o' hard-up," he said with grim jj < aity, " but there's a pound to keep your pouch. — No nonsense [213] r THE HOUSE WITH THE GKEEN SHUTTERS now! " lie shot at the youth with a loaded eye. " That's just for use if you happen to be in company. A Gour- lay maun spend as much as the rest o' folk." " Yes, faither," said the youngster, and Gourlay went away. ■" That grimly-jocose reference to his poverty was a fea- ture of (iourlay's talk now, when he spoke of money to MS family. It excused the smallness of his doles/yet led them to believe that he was only joking, that he had plenty of money if he would only consent to shell it out And that was what he wished them to believe His pnde would not allow him to confess, even to his near- est, that he was a failure in business, and hampered with financial trouble. Thus his manner of warning them to be careful had the very opposite effect. " He has heaps o cash, thought the son, as he watched the father up the street; « there's no need for a fellow to be mean." Flattered (as he fondly imagined) by the Deacon, flat- tered by the minister, tipped by his mother, tipped bv his father, hale-fellow-well-met with Pate W^ lie-Lord but young Gourlay was the fine fellow! Symptoms of swell-head set in with alarming rapidity. He had a wild tendency to splurge. And, that he might show in a single afternoon all the crass stupidity of which he was capable, he immediately allowed himself a veiled insult towards the daughters of the ex-Provost. They were really nice girls, in spite of their parent- age and, as they came down the street, they glanced with shy kindness at the student, from under their broad-brimmed hats. Gourlay raised his in answer to their nod. But the moment after, and in their hear- ing, he yelled blatantly to Swipey Broon, to come on [214] OHAPTEK TWENTY and ha.o a d.inl: of beer. Swipey was a sweep now ror . .v,.„ ilip ruiman had added chimney-cleaning to his ocue. occupy :ions-plurality of professions, you ob- serve, bemg one of the features of the life of Barbie When Swipey turned out of the Flockie Road, he was as black as the ace of spades, a most disreput^vble phi. And when Gourlay yelled his loud welcouio to that grimy object, what he wanted to convey to the two girU was: Ho, ho, my pretty misses; I'm on bowing teruN with you, and yet when I might go up and speak to ye. I prefer to go off and drink with a sweep, d'ye see' Ihat shows what I think o' ye!" All that summer •lolin took an oblique revenge on those who ha,l dis- considered the Gourlays-but would have liked to make i.p to him now wJicn they thought he was going to do well-he took a paltry revenge by patently rejecting their advances and consorting instead, and in their pres- ence with the lowest of low company. Thus he vented a spite which he had long cherished against them for their former neglect of Janet and him. For, though the Gourlay children had been welcome at well-to-do houses in the country, their father's unpopularity had cut them off from the social life of the town. AVhen the Provost gave his grand spree on Hogmanay there was never an invitation for the Gourlay youngsters. The slight had rankled in the boy's mind. Now, however, some of the local bigwigs had an opinion (with very little to sup- port it) that he was going to be a successful man, and they shewed a disposition to be friendly. John with a rankling memory of their former coldness, flouted every overture, by letting them see plainly that he preferred to their company-that of Swipey Broon, Jock McCraw [ 815 ] THE HOUSE "WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS and every ragamuffin of the town. It was a kind of back- handed stroke at them. That was the paltry form which his father's pride took in him. Ho did not see lliat he was harming himself rather than his father's enemies. Harm himself he did, for you could not asso- ciate with ,Tock SIcCraw and the like, without drinking in every howff you came across. When the bodies assembled next day for their " morn- ing," the Deacon was able to inform them that young Gourlay was back from the College, daf ter than ever, and that he had pulled his leg as far as he wanted it. " Oh," he said, " I played him like a kitten wi' a cork and found out ainything and everything I wished. I dithcovered that he's in wi' .Tock Allan and that crowd — I edged the conversation round on purpoth! Unless he wath blow- ing his trump — wliich I greatly doubt — they're as thick as thieveth. Ye ken what that raeanth. He'll turn hith wee finger to the ceiling oftener than he puts iiith forefinger to the pen, I'm thinking. It theemth he drinkth enormuth! He took a gey nip last thummer, and this thummer I wager he takes mair o't. He avowed his plain intention! ' I mean to kick up & bit of a dust,' thays he. Oh, but he's the sp'urge! " "Aye, aye," said Sandy Toddle; "thae students are a gey squad. Especially the young ministers." " Ou," said Tam Wylie, " dinna be hard on the min- isters. Ministers are just like the rest o' folk. They mind me o' last year's early tatties. They're grand when they're gude, but the feck o' them's f rostit." "Aye," said the Deacon, " and young Gourlay's frostit in the shaw already. I doubt it'll be a poor ingather- ing." [ 216 ] CHAPTER TWENTY ' the mair's the pity o' " Weel, weel," said Tarn WvliP ' that. Deacon." ' hnlT'v"'!!'/ ^f "* P'*^''" *""' the Deacon, and ho bowed hjs body solemnly with outspread handL " N„ doubt It th a grai-ait pity! " and he wagged his head from side to side, the picture of a poignant wor die, who had been silent hitherto in utter scorn of the Ud hey were speaking of-too disgusted to open hi mouth. He was standing drinks to a crowd that were puffing him up about that prize o' his " saidS Sn' **"= """^'"" '"•*'■ *« --' ^'>-'^-^'' rl^ !,'"'" ^'!''i*^'' " ^''''SeTO^xs thing," said Johnny Coe, who could think at times. " To bfsafe you shouM be a genms wmged and flying, or a crawling thing "hat 2:,% ''^^' "'^'- '''' '""^ •'"'f-d-half thft hel gapes for. And owre they flap." But nobody understood him. "Drink and vinitv'U Before the summer holiday was over (it lasts six mon hs in Scotland) young Gourlay was a hablL^ Lhlr'^f^''- ,^Z ^''""'^'"^ abhorrence from the scholastic life of Edinburgh flung him with all the grater abandon into the conviviality he had learned to know at home His mother (who always seemed to sit "P now after Janet and Gourlay were in bed) often let her ,„ the lobby, he would hold his breath lest she [317] THE HOUSE WITH THE GRkEN SHUTTERS should smell it. " You're unco late, dear," she would say wearily, but no other reproach did she utter. " I was taking a walk," he would answer thickly; " there's a fine moon! " It was true that when his terrible de- pression seized him, he was sometimes tempted to seek the rapture and peace of a moonlight walk upon the Fleckie Road. In his crude clay there was a vein of poetry; he could be alone in the country, and not lonely; had he lived in a green quiet plnee, he might have learned the solace of nature for the wounded when eve sheds her spiritual dews. But the mean pleasures to be found at the Cross satisfied his nature, and stopped him midway to that soothing beauty of the woods and streams, which might have broaght healing and a wise quiescence. His success — such as it was — had gained him a circle — such as it was — and the assertive nature proper to his father's son gave him a kind of lead amongst them. Yet even his henchmen saw through his swaggering. Swipey Broon turned on him one night, and threatened to split his mouth, and he went as white as the wall beliind him. Among his other follies, he assumed the pose of a man who could an he would, who had it in him to do great things, if he would only set about them. In this, he wa.<i partly playing up to a foolish opinion of his more igno- rant associates; it was they who suggested the pose to him. " Devilish clev^ r! " he heard them whisper one night as he stood in the door of a tavern; " he could do it if he liked, only hr's too fond o' the fun." Young Qourlay flushed where he stood in the d/i'kness, flushed with pleasure at the criticism of hia character which was, nevertheless, a compliment to his wits. He felt that he [218] CHAPTER TWENTY must play up at once to the cha^cter assigned him. Ho, ho my lads!" he cried, entering with a splurge, let 8 make a n.ght o't. I should be working for m,' Oegree to-night, but I suppose I can get it eas^ enough when the time comes." "What did I tell ye?" said McCraw, nudging an elbow-and r,ourlay saw th.. nudge. Here at last he had found the sweet seduction of a proper pose-that of a graud homme mamiuf, ,.f » man who would be a genius were it not for the excess of his qualities Would he continue to appear a gen us then he must continue to display that excess which- so he wisned them to believe-alone prevented his bril- You could do great things if you didn't drink " crooned the fools. " See how I drink," Gourlay seemed to answer-" that is why I don't do g^eat things But mind you, I could do them, were it n^ for m!" Thus Irink it H ^''^^'' ^' "'eht attain if he didn't In^f ^V^"^ roystering became a pose, and his mr^conScSlg": '''''-' *" ""'^^' '" ""^^ «•« Po- [319] XXI On a beautiful evening in September, when a new crescent moon was pointing through the saffron sky lilce the lit tip of a finger, the City Fathers had assembled at the comer of the Fleckie Road. Thougli the moon was peeping, the dyidg glory of the day was still upon the town. The white smoke rose straight and far in the golden mystery of the heavens, and , line of dark roofs, transfigured against the west, wooed the eye to musing. But though the bodies felt the fine evening bathe them in a sensuous content, as they smoked and dawdled, they gave never a thought to its beauty. For there had been a blitheness in the town that day, and every other man seemed to have been preeing the demi- john. Dracken Wabster and Brown the ragman came round the comer, staggering. "Young Gourlay's drunk!" blurted Wabster— and reeled himself as he spoke. " Is he a wee fou? " said the Deacon eagerly. " Wee be damned," said Wabster; " he's as fou as the Baltic Sea! If you wait here, you'll be sure to see him! He'll be round the comer directly." " De-ar me, is he so bad as that? " said the ex-Prov- ost, raising his hands in solemn reprobation. He raised his eyes to heaven at the same time, as if it pained them to look on a world that endured the burden of a young [220] CHAPTER TWENTY ONE too!" he s.'hed. Gourlay. " lu broad d«>ligli(, " De-ar me, has lie come to this? " nhllf '"; f "?'''" h>ccui.l)cd Brown, " he ha«! He's as phull of drink as a whelk-shell's phuU of whelk. He's uhS'Z''^ /' '"f «'/-And begorra, that's mighty phM he s ared suddenly, scratching his hea.l solemnly as If the fact had just occurred to him. Then he winked. You could set fire to his br»ith! " cried Wabster. A match to his mouth would send him in a lowe " A living gas jet! " said Brown. «sTw I'^^lf'/f "T' ^°'"«*"n^« ■■"bbing shoulders as they lurched together, sometimes with the road be- tween them. " I kenned young Gourlay was on the fuddle when I saw him swinging off this morning in his creatcoat " "Clothes undoubtedly affect the character," said Johnny Coe. « It takes a gentleman to wear a lordly coat without swaggering." " There's not a doubt o' tha-at! " approved the baker who was merry with his day's carousal; "there's not a doubt o tha-at! Claes affect the disposeetion. 1 mind when I was a young chap I had a grand pair o> brecks- vvull I ca ed them— unco decent breeks they were I mmd, lang and swankie like a ploughman-and I aye thocht I was a tremendous honest and hamely fallow W » I i*""/"* °"' ^'"'^ ^ ^"^ » ^^"^ disreputable hat he added-" Bab I christened him for he was a perfect devil-and I never cocked him owre my lug on [ 221 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS uichtB at e'en but ' Baker! ' he seemed to whisper, ' Baker 1 Let us go out and do a bashl ' — And we gen- erally went." " You're a wonderful man! " piped the Deacon. " We may as well wait and see young Gourlay going bye," said the ex-Provost. " He'll likely be a sad spec- tacle." " Ith auld Gourlay on the thtreet the nicht? " cried the Deacon eagerly. " I wonder will he thee the young- ster afore he gets hame! Eh, man—" he bent his knees with staring delight— "eh, man, if they would only meet forenenst uth! Hoo! " " He's a regular waster," said Brodie. " When a silly young blood takee a fancy to a girl in a public house he's always done for — I've observed it times without number. At first he lets on that he merely gangs in for a drink; what he i-eally wants, however, is to see the girl. Even if he's no great toper to begin with, he must show himself fond o' the dram, as a means of getting to his jo. Then, before he kens where he is, the habit has gripped him. That's a gate mony a ane gangs."' " That's verra true — now that ye mention't," gravely assented the ex-Provost. His opinion of Brodie's sa- gacity, high already, was enhanced by the remark. " In- deed, that's verra true. But how does't apply to young (iourlay in particular, Thomas? Is he after some dam- sel o' the gill-stoup? " " Ou aye — he's ta'en a fancy to yon bit shilp in the barroom o' the Red Lion. He's always hinging owre the counter talking till her, a cigarette dropping from his face, and a half-fu' tumbler at his elbow. When a young chap takes to hinging round bars, ae elbow on [228] CHAPTER TWENTY- ONE the counter and a hand on his other hip, I have verra bad brows o' him always; verra bad brows, indeed. Oh — oh, young Gourlpy's just a goner! a goner, sirs; a gorer! " '■ Have yc heard about him at the Skeighan Fair? " said Sandy Toddle. " No, man! " said Brodie, bowing down and keeking at Toddle in his interest; " I hadna heard about tha-at! Is this a new thing? " " Oh, just at the fair; the other day, ye know! " " Aye, man, Sandy! " said big Brodie, stooping down to Toddle to get near the news; "and what was it, Sandy? " " Ou, just drinking, ye know; wi' — wi' Swipey Broon — and, eh, and that McCraw, ye know — and Sandy Hull — and a wheen mair o' that kind — yu ken the kind; a verra bad lot! " said Sandy, and wagged a disapproving pow. " Here they all got as drunk as drunk could be, and started fighting wi' the colliers! Young Gourlay got a bloodied nose! Then nothing would serve him but he must (uive back wi' young Pin-oe, who was even drunker than himsell. They drave at sic a i'ate that when they dashed from this side o' Skeighan Drone, the stour o' their career was rising at the far-end. Tlipy roared and sang till it was a perfect affront to God's day, and frae sidle to sidie they swung till the splush-brods were skreighing on the wheels. .\t a quick turn o' the road they wintled owre; and there they were, sitting on their dowps in the atoms o' the gig, and glowering frae them! When young Gourlay slid hame at dark, he was in such R state that his mother had to hide him frae the auld man. She had that, puir body! The twa women were [383] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS obliged to curry tliu drunk lump tu liiH budruoiii — and yon lassie far gu'cn in eonsumptiun, too, thoy tell nicl Ou, he wag in a perfectly awful condition; perfectly awful!" "Aye, man," nodded Brudie. " 1 hadna heard o't. — Curi jU8 that I didna hear o' that! " " It was Drucken Wabster's wife that telled it. There's not a haet that happens at the Gourlays but she clypee. I spicred her mysell, and she says young Gour- lay has a black eye." "Aye, aye; there'th thmall hope for the Oourlayth in him! " said the Dcacbn. " How do you ken? " cried the baker. " He's no the fi-^t .v<' ingster I've seen the wiseacres o' the world wag- ging their sagacious pows owre; and, eh, but he was this waster! — according to their way of it — and, oh, but he was the other waster! and, ochonee, but he was the wild fellow! — and a' the while they wcrena fit to be his door mat; for it was only the fire in the ruffian made him seem sae daft." "True!" said the ex-Provost; "true! Still there's a decency in daftness. And there's no decency in young Gourlay. He's just a mouth! ' Start canny and you'll steer weel,' my mother used to say; but he has started imco ill, and he'll steer to ruin." "Dinna spae ill-fortune!" said the baker, "dinna spae ill-fortune! And never despise a youngster for a random start. It's the blood makes a breenge." "Well, I like young men to be quiet," said Sandy Toddle. " I would rather have them a wee joft than rollickers." " Not II " said the baker. " If I had a son, I would [224] OHAl'TER TWENTY-ONE ruttifran ill .luil .at luruiMist .„e at the Inl.l,., llmi. ,„.,- wtch in a poke. Bums (U„,l rest his banes!) struck the he rt o t. Ye mind what he said o' Prince Ooordie: " ' ^" °"'»y • ragged cowte's been known To mak t noble tiver; And ye may doucelj fill a Throne, For a' their clishmsclaTer; There Hhn at Agincourt wha «hone, Few better were or braver; And yet wi' funny queer Sir John Ue was an unco shaver For monie a day.' " Dam't, but Bums is gud«." "Huts man, dinna swecr sae niuekl..! " frowned the old I'rovost. " Ou, there's waur than an oath now and than," said the baker "Like spice in a bun it lends a briskness. «ut It needs the hearty manner wi't. The Deacon there cou dna let blatter wi' a hearty oath to save his withered w.wl. I kenned a trifle o' a fellow that got in araonK a jovial gang lang-syne that used to sweer tremendous and he bude to do the same the bit bodie'-so he used to say Dim it." in a wee sma voice that was clean ndeec lous.— He was a lauchable dirt, that." "What was his name?" said Sandy Toddle. "Your ain," said the baker. (To tell the truth, he was gey fou.) " Alexander Toddle was his name: ' Dim ... i.r.l '° "'"*'''' ^"^ ""■ ^"^ ''e^n a Scotch cuddy in the Midlands, and whiles he used the English. ' Dim t(/^ said he. I like a man that says ' Dahm't.' " ■/"F^' ^* *''*"' y°" *''*^' 3"'"'''« »" artitht in wordth." said the Deacon. [825] THE J10U8E WITH TilE OREEN SI1UTTEK8 " Ve're an artist in »pite," said the baker. "Ah, well," uid the ox-I'rovo»t, " Bum* proved to be wrang in the end o't, and you'll maybe be the same. (Jcorgc the Port' didna fill the throne verra douccly for ii' their cleishmaclavcr, and I don't think young Oour- luy'll fill the pulpit verra doucely for a' ours. For he's saftic and duftie baith— and that's the deidly combina- tion. At least, that's my opinion," quoth he, and tiiiaeked his lips, the important man. " Tyuts," said the baker, " folk should bo kind to folk. There may be a possibeelity for the Gourlays in the youngster yet I " He would have said more, but at that moment his sonsy big wife came out, with oh! such a roguish and kmdly smil.s and, "Tom, Tom," mid she, "what are ye havering huiu for? C'way in, man, and have a dish o tea wi' me! " He glanced uj) at her witli comic shrewdness from where he sat on his hunkers— for line he saw through her— and "(hi aye," said he, "ye great mucklc fat hotch o' a daccnt bodie, ye— I'll gang in and have a dish o tea wi' yc." And away wont tlie flne fuddled fellow. She's a wise woman, that," said the ox-Provost look- ing after tlicm. " She kenned no to flyte, and he went like a lamb." " I believe he'th feared o' her," snapped the Deacon, ' or he u udny-un went thae lamb-like! " " lieave him alone! " said Johnny Coe, who had been drinking too. " He's the only kind heart in Barbie. And Gourlay's the only gentleman." " Gentleman! " cried Sandy Toddle. " Lord save us! Auld Gourlay a gentleman! " [386] CHAPl'ER TWENTY-ONE "Ye., gentlemanl " said Johnny, to whom the drink a b,ggcr flcW-oh, nmn," »aid Johnny, vi,ioning the p.b..ty "Aul-J (iourla could conquer the world he swalled hig ncclt tiirt." ' ;' It would bo H big conquest that! " said the Dcacn ^on rate"" '"' '"° '"'''"*' '"" "'" '''"™ "' '''* ''■"■"' I'oung (iouriay can.c staggering round the corner, a little sj.rung (as they phrase it in IJarbie), but n,- «o bad as they had hoped to see hi,,,. Webster ami he ragman had exaggerated the condition of their fcll„«-. toper Probably their own oscillation lent itself to .the,« ,«e l,e was fa,rly stea.ly on his pins. i;nl,>,.kilv .owever. fa.hng to see a stone before on the road e tnpped an.l went sprawling on l,is hands and kncs. A titter went. "What the hell are you laughing at?" he snarled leaping up; quick to feel the slight, blatant to resent it Tyuts man! Tan, ;\'ylie rebuked him in a careless scorn. >.oii.»i-B.i strrt*"* " '"''*'"^ ''"*• ^' ^'"^ swaggering up the sibldUy.'" '"'' ''"''"' '^"'^' "*'""'" "" ''""''"^ '""■ [227] XXII "Ah, ha, Deacon, my old cock, here you are! " The speaker smote the Deacon between his thin shoulder- blades, till the hat leapt on his startled cranium. " No, not a lengthy stay— just down for a flying visit to see my little girl. Dem'd glad to get back to town again— Barbie's too quiet for my tastes. No life in the place, no life at all! " The speaker was Davie Aird, draper and buck. " No life at all," he cried, as he shot down his cuffs with a jerk, and swung up and down the barroom of the Bed Lion. He was dressed in a long fawn overcoat reach- ing to his heels, with two big yellow buttons at the waist behind, in the most approved fashion of the horsey. He paused in his swaggering to survey the backs of his . long white delicate hands, holding them side by side before him, as if to make sure they were the same size. He was letting the Deacon see his ring. Then pursing his chin down, with a fastidious and critical regard, he picked a long fair hair off his left coat-sleeve. He held it high as he had seen them do on the stage of the Thea- tre Royal. " Sweet souvenir! " he cried, and kissed it, " most dear remembrance! " The Deacon fed on the sight. The richness of his satiric perception was too great to permit of speech. He could only gloat and be dumb. "Waiting for Jack Gourlay," Aird rattled again. [228] CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO il^!'^ f 'r^°"««« '^<^> and we're driving in his W^nH *•?? *° «««' the express at Skeighan ^Station '' Sd '" hrcr-:?"" jS* ''"^tt^ '^»-- my flask filled " "'' " """""'' ^^"^' ''» ^ g«' gether for the boy's exnenees TJ,» , i^ ,. ^ Peter Bmey's bunched-^p little old figure Luldb?see„ Twf™ L ... * ^* '""^''y ™™«s^<"- to Spanking TanO pawed the gravel and fretted in impatience her and^ro"";'"^ P"'=''' ''«'"'^* '''' ^'-i -^^e'd to Swarf lain r!^^ ™"' "^ "^''* «'•'"'« ""t f™-" the rin^oth llT?..,'"' ^""''"^ ^y his porch. Each GourUvsterJ f i' ?'■ 1° *'"'* P''»^'"« yellowness. Uourlay stared at the bright evergreen, and forgot for THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS a moment where he was. His lips parted, and — as they saw in the light from the door — his look grew dreamy and far-away. The truth was that all the impressions of a last day at home were bitten in on his brain as by acid, in the very middle of his swaggering gusto. That gusto was largely real, true, for it seemed a fine thing to go splurging off to College in a gig; but it was still more largely assumed, to combat the sorrow of departure. His heart was in his boots at the thought of going back to accursed Edinburgh — to those lodgings, those dreary, damnable lodgings. Thus his nature was reduced to its real elements in the hour of leaving home; it was only for a swift moment he forgot to splurge, but for that moment the cloak of his swaggering dropped away and he was his naked self, morbidly alive to the impres- sions of the world, afraid of life, clinging to the familiar and the known. That was why he gazed with wistful eyes at that laurel clump, so vivid in the 'pouring rays. So vivid there, it stood for all the dear country round which was now hidden by the darkness; it centred his world among its leaves. It was a lasi picture of loveil Barbie that was fastening on his mind. There would be fine gardens in Edinburgh, no doubt, but, oh, that oouthie laurel by the Red Lion door! It was his friend; he had known it always. The spell lasted but a moment, one of those moments searching a man's nature to its depths, yet flitting like a lonely shadow on the autumn wheat. But Aird was already fidgetting. " Hurry up. Jack," he cried, " well need to pelt if we mean to get the train." Oourlay started. In a moment he had slipped from [ S30 ] CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO one self to another, and was the blusterer once more. " Bight! " he splurged, " hover a blink till I light my cigar." He was not in the habit of smoking cigars, but he had bought a packet on purpose, that he might light one before his admiring onlookers ere he went away. Noth- ing like cutting a dash. He was seen puffing for a moment with indrawn cheeks, his head to one side, the flame of the ilickering vesta lighting up his face, his hit pushed back till it rested on his collar, his fair hair hanging down his brow. Then he sprang to the driving seat and gath- ered up the reins. "Ta-ta, Deacon; see and behave yourself! " he flung across his shoulder, and they were oil with a bound. " Im-pidenth! " said the outraged Deacon. Peter Biney was quite proud to have the honour of driving two such bucks to the station. It lent him a consequence; he would be able to say when he came back that he had been " awa wi' the young mester " — for Peter said "mester," and was laughed at by the Barbie wits who knew that " maister " was the proper English. The splurging twain rallied him and drew him out in talk, passed him their flasks at the Brownie's Brae, had him tee-heeing at their nonsense. It was a full-blooded night to the withered little man. That was how young Qourlay left Barbie for what was to prove his last session at the University. All Gourla/s swankie chaps had gone with the going of his trade; only Peter Riney, the queer little oddity, remained. There was a loyal simplicity in Peter which [331] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS never allowed him to question the Gourlays. He had been too long in their senrice to be of use to any other; while there was a hand's turn to be done about the House with the Green Shutters, he was glad to have the chance of doing it. His respect for his surly tyrant was as great as ever; he took his pittance of a wage and was thankful. Above all he worshipped young Gour- lay; to be in touch with a College-bred man was a re- flected glory; even the escapades noised about the little town, to his gleeful ignorance, were the signs of a man of the world. Peter' chuckled when he heard them talked of. " Terr'ble clever fallow, the young mester! " the bowed little man would say, sucking his pipe of an evening, "terr'ble clever fallow, the young mester— and hardy, too; infernal hardy!" Loyal Peter be- lieved it. But ere four months had gone, Peter was discbirged. It was on the day after Gourlay sold Black Saily, the mare, to get a little money to go on with. It was a bright spring day, of enervatine' softness, a fosie day, a day when the pores of everyth-ng seemed opened. People's brains felt pulpy, and they sniffed as with winter's colJs. Peter Einey was opening a pit of potatoes in the big garden, shovelling aside the foot- deep mould, and tearing off the inner covering of yellow straw — which seemed strange and unnatural, somehow, when suddenly revealed in its glistening dryness, be- neath the moist dark earth. Little crumbles of mould trickled down, in among the flattened shining straws. In a tree near Peter, two pigeons were gurgling and roohety-cooing, mating for the coming year. He fell to sorting out the potatoes, throwing the bad ones on a [238] CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO heap aside—" tattie-walin," as they call it in the uorth. The enervating softness was at work on Peter's head, too, and from time to time, as he waled, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Gourlay watched him for a long time without speak- ing. Once or twice he moistened his lips, and cleared his throat, and frowned— as one who would broach un- pleasant news. It was not like him to hesitate. But the old man, encased in senility, was ill to disturb; he was intent on nothing but the work before him; it was me- chanical and soothing and occupied his whole mind. Gourlay, so often the trampling brute without knowing it, felt it brutal to wound the faithful old creature dreaming at his toil. He would have found it much easier to discharge a younger and a keener man. " Stop, Peter," he said at last; " I don't need you ainy more." Peter rose stiffly from his knees and shook the mould with a pitiful gesture from his hands. His mouth was fallen slack, and showed a few yellow tusks. " Eh ? " he asked vaguely. The thought that he must leave the Gourlays could not penetrate his mind. " I don't need you ainy more," said Gourlay again, and met his eye steadily. " I'm gey auld," said Peter, still shaking his hands with that pitiful gesture, " but I only need a bite and a sup. Man, I'm willin' to tak onything." "It's no that," said Gourlay sourly, "it's no that. But I'm giving up the business." Peter said nothing, but gazed away down the garden, his sunken mouth forgetting to munch its straw, which dangled by his chin. " I'm an auld servant," he said [333] H ill I THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS at last, " and mind ye," he flashed in pride, " I'm a true ane." " Oh, you're a' that," Gourlay grunted; " you have been a good servant." "It'll be the poorhouse, it's like," mused Peter. " Man, have ye noathing for us to do? " he asked plead- ingly. Qourlay'a jaw clamped. " Noathing, Peter," he said sullenly, " noathing "; and slipped some money into Peter's heedless palm. Peter stared stupidly down at the coins. He seemed dazed. "Aye, weel," he said; " I'll feenish the tatties at ony rate." " No, no, Peter," and Gourlay gripped him by the shoulder as he turned back to his work, " no, no; I have no right to keep you. Never mind about the money — you deserve something, going so suddenly after sic a long service. It's just a bit present to mind you o' — to mind you o' — " he broke off suddenly and scowled across the garden. Spme men, when a feeling touches them, express their emotion in tears; others by an angry scowl — hating themselves inwardly, perhaps, for their weakness in be- ing moved, hating, too, the occasion that has probed their weakness. It was because he felt parting with Peter so keenly that Gourlay behaved more sullenly than usual. Peter had been with Gourlay's father in his present master's boyhood, had always been faithful and submissive; in his humble way was nearer the grain merchant than any other man in Barbie. He was the only human being Gourlay had ever deigned to joke with; and that, in itself, won him an affection. More, [234] OHAPTEIl TWENTY-TWO the going of Peter meant the goinff of overvthino. \ aaid with a rueful snu.e, aidtid ou'^ tt^/'"' '' Gourlay gnpped it. « Good-bye, Peter -gta-bye- danin ye, man, good-bye' " "'■•goouDye, he felt'thT^''"' "T"'^ ^^y '•^ ^"^ «'^°"> at- But ae ten that it was not in aneer He still ni„^ * i.- ««ter.ahand. « I've been /fty ye^^w^^L^SrSy? « Sh J"!"' "^'' M.** "•"' " ^^«««' « the end o't " n«nf> A^^prc:::^ ''-'-'' "^-^ -y- oft!n"stodT*r* *°i'' ''f ^««" ^t« -here he had J;ri^rt^^'-r:^if,rr h. thig?/ ct"yt?:erhrfarthtstr but It never gripped him before. He stared^l] pXr dmppeared round the Bend o' the Brae. o' thm!"'''''" ""'' """ ""y^' ''y^- Th-« goe« the laat It was a final run of ill-luck that brought Gourlay to S^LlXL'i^H "^'"^ everything'seemj^g^ agamst hun, he tned several speculations, with a earn S.T);»t? "hf^oned the sensible direction of affain,, that is, and trusted entirely to chance, as men are [238] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS apt to do when despairing. And chance betrayed him. He found himself of a sudden at the end of liis resources. Through all his troubles his one consolation was the fact that he had sent John to the University. That was soincthing saved from the wreck at any rate. More and more, as his other supports fell away, Gourlay attached himself to the future of his son. It became the sheet- anchor of his hopes. If he had remained a prosperous man John's success would have been merely incidental, something to disconsider in speech, at least, however pleased he might have been at heart. But now it was the whole of life to him. For one thing, the son's suc- cess would justify the father's past and prevert it being quite useless; it would have produced a minister, a suc- cessful man, one of an esteemed profession. Again, that success would be a salve to Qourlay's wounded pride; the Gourlays would show Barbie they could flour- ish yet, in spite of their present downcome. Thus, in the collapse of his fortunes, the son grew all-important in the father's eyes. Nor did his own poverty seem to him a just bar to his son's prosperity. " I have put him through his Arts," thought Gourlay; " surely he can do the rest himsell. Lots of young chaps, when they warstle through their Arts, teach the sons of swells to get a little money to gang through Diveenity. My boy can surely do the like! " Again and again, as Gourlay felt himself slipping under in the world of Barbie, his hopes turned to John in Edinburgh. If that boy would only hurry up and get through, to make a hame for the lassie and the auld wife! [236] XXIII YouNO Gourlay spent that winter in Edinburgh pretty much as he had spent the last. Last winter, how- ever, it was simply a weak need for companionship that drew him to the Howff. This winter it was more, it was the need of a fonned habit that must have its wonted satisfaction. He had a further impulse to con- viviality now. It had become a habit that compelled him. The diversions cf some men are merely tubsidiary to their lives, externals easy to be dropped; with others they usurp the man. They usurp a life when it is never happy away from them, when in the midst of other oc- cupations absent pleasures rise vivid to the mind, with an irresistible call. Young Gourlay'a too-seeing imag- ination, always visioning absent delights, combined with his weakness of will, never gripping to the work before him, to make him hate his lonely studies and long for the jolly company of his friends. He never opened his books of an evening but he thought to himself: " I won- der what they're doing at the Howff to-night? " At once he visualized the scene, imagined every detail, saw them in their jovial hours. And, seeing them so happy, he longed to be with them. On that night, long ago, when his father ordered him to College, his cowardly and too vivid mind thought of the ploys the fellows would be having along the Barbie roads, while he was [ 237 ] \> I I ; i THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS mewed up in Edinburgh. He uw the Barbie roUicken in hig mind'i eye, and the student in hi* lonely roonu, and contrasted them mournfully. So now, every night, he saw the cosy companions in their Howff, and shiv- ered at his own isolation. He felt a tugging at his heart to be off and join them. And his will was so weak that, nine times out of ten, he made no resistance to the impulse. He had always a feelinj of depression when he must sit down to his books. It was the start that gravelled him. He would lobk round his room and hate it, mut- ter " Damn it, 1 must work "—and then, with a heavy sigh, would seat himself before an outspread volume on the table, tugging the hair on a puckered forehead. Sometimes the depression left him, when he buckled to his work; as his mind became occupied with other things the vision of the Howff was expelled. TTsually, how- ever, the stiffness of his brains made the reading drag heavily, and he rarely attained the sufficing happiness of a student eager and engrossed. At the end of ten minutes he would be gaping across the table, and won- dering what they were doing at the Howff. " Will Lo- gan be singing 'Tarn Glen?' Or is Gillespie fiddling Highland tunes, by Jing, with his elbow going it mer- rily? Lord! I would like to hear ' Miss Drummond o' Perth ' or ' Gray Daylicht '—they might buck me up a bit. 11 just slip out for ten minutes, to to see what they're doing, and be back directly." He came back at two in the morning, staggering. On a bleak spring evening, near the end of February, young Gourlay had gone to the Howff, to escape the shuddering misery of the streets. It was that treacher- [838] CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE r •P"°«7«»t'"" "'hich blighte. Only two days ago the a.r had been sluggish and balmy; now an «MterW wmd nipped the grey city, naked and bare. There wm hght enough, with the lengthening days, to see, plainly, the ruwneHS of the world. There ^ere cold yelbw gUams m windows fronting a lonely west. Uncertain ht«e puffs of wind came swirling round comers, and made dust, ^d pieces of dirty white paper, gyra e on he roads. Prosperous old gentlemen pacing hime r^ the end of their noses. Sometimes they stopped-their trouser-legs flapping behind them-knd truLpetted loudly jnto red silk handkerchiefs. Young Sal had fled the streets. It was the kind of fig'.t that made him cower. By eight o'clock, however, he was merry with the bar- ley-bree, and making a butt of himself to amuse the company. He was not quick-witted enough to banter a comrade readily, nor hardy enough to essay it unpro- voked; on the other hand v^ swaggering love of notice impelled •'.im to some lo. of talk that would attract attention. So he made a point of always coming with daft stones of things comic that befell him— at least he said they did. But if his efforts were greeted with too loud a roar, implying not only appreciation of the stones, but also a contempt for the mm who could tell them of himself, his sensitive vanity was immediately wounded, and he swelled with sulky anger. And the moment after he would splurge and bluster to reassert nis dignity. " I remember when I was a boy," he hiccuped, « I had a pet goose at home." [339] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN 8HUTTEU8 Tliero H'M a tiUur at the queer beginning. " I waa to got the price of it for myaelf, and no when Christmai drew near, I went to old MacFarlane, the poulterer in Skeighan. ' Will you buy a gooitc? ' aaid I. ' Are ye for sale, my man? ' waa his answer." Amutrong flung back his head and roared, prolonging the loud ho-ho! through his big nose and open mouth long after the impulse to honest laughter was exhausted. He always laughed with false loudness, to indicate his own superiority, when he thought a man had been guilty of a public sillinesg. The laugh was meant to show the company how far above such folly was Mr. Armstrong. Gourlay scowled. " Damn Armstrong! " he thought, " what did he yell like that for? Does he think I didn't see the point of the joke against myself? Would I have told it if I hadn't? This is what comes of being sensi- tive. I'm always too sensitive! I felt there was an awkward silence, and I told a story against myself to dispel it in fun, and this is what I get for't. Curse the big brute, he thinks I have given my»elf away. But I'll show him! " He was already mellow, but he took another swig to hearten him, as was his habit. " There's a damned sight too much yell about your laugh, Armstrong," he said, truly enough, getting a courage from his anger and the drink. " No gentle- man laughs liko that." " ' Situ ineplo res intptior nulla est,' " said Tarmillan, who was on one of his rare visits to the Howff. He was too busy and too wise a man to frequent it greatly. Armstrong blushed; and Gourlay grew big and brave, [840] i. niAlTEK TWENTV TIIKKK ill thobackinj; of lliu great Turinillmi. Ilr „ < . „i||,.r Bwig on tho Btrongth of it. Itiit Imh rcnoiitinont wbh Htill surginK. When 'I'Brniilluii went, and tlio throii Htiiilents were left by tliemw'lvci), (Jourlay eontimicd to nag and bluster, for that blatant laugh of ArniHtrong'u rankled in his mind. " I saw Hepburn in the street to-day," said (Jillespic, by way of a diversion. " Who's Hepburn? " snapped Oourlay. "Oh, don't you remember? He's the big Border chap who got into a row with auld Tain on the day you won your prize essay." (That should Kurcly appease the fool, thought Gillespie.) " It was only for tho fun of the thing Hepburn was at College, for he has lots of money; and, here, he never apologized to Tam! He said he would go down first." " He was damned right," spluttered Gourlay. " Some of these Profs, think too much of themselves. They wouldn't bully me! There's good stuff in tho Gour- lays," he went on with a meaning look at Armstrong; " they're not to be scoflfed at. I would stand insolence from no man." "Aye, man," said Armstrong, " would you face up to a professor? " "Wouldn't I?" said the tipsy youth, "and to you, too, if you went too far." He became so quarrelsome as the night went on that his comrades filled him up with drink, in the hope of deadening his rufBed sensibilities. It was: "Yes, yes, Jack; but never mind about that! Have another drink, just to show there's no ill-feeling among friends." When they left the Howff they went to Gillespie's and [241] THE HOUSE WITH THE GBEEN SHUTTERS drank more, and, after that, they roamed about the town. At two in the morning the other two brought Gourlay to his door. He was assuring Armstrong he was not a gentleman. When he went to bed the fancied insult he had suf- fered swelled to monstrous proportions in his fevered brain. Did Armstrong despise him? The thought was poison I He lay in brooding anger, and his mind was fluent in wrathful harangues in some imaginary encoun- ter of the future, in which he was a glorious victor. He flowed in eloquent scorn of Armstrong and his ways. If I could talk like this always, he thought, what a fel- low I would be! He seemed gifted with uncanny in- sight into Armstrong's character. He noted every weakness in the rushing whirl of his thoughts, set them in order one by one, saw himself laying bare the man with savage glee when next they should encounter. He would whiten the big brute's face by shewing he had probed him to the quick. Just let him laugh at me again, thought Gourlay, and 111 analyse each mean quirk of his dirty soul to him! The drink was dying in him now, for the trio had walked for more than an hour through the open air when they left Gillespie's rooms. The stupefaction of alcohol was gone, leaving his brain morbidly alive. He was anxious to sleep, but drowsy dullness kept away. His mind began to visualise of its own accord, independ- ent of his will; and, one after another, a crowd of pic- tures rose vivid in the darkness of his brain. He saw them as plainly as you see this page — ^but with a differ- ent clearness — for they seemed unnatural, belonging to a morbid world. Nor did one suggest the other; there [342] CHAPTER TWEF''T-THREE wag no connection between them; each came vivid of its own accord. First it was an old pit-frame on a barren moor, gaunt against the yellow west. Oourlay saw bars of iron, left when the pit was abandoned, reddened by the rain; and the mounds of rubbish, and the scattered bricks, and the rusty clinkers from the furnace, and the melancholy shining pools. A four-wheeled old trolley had lost two of its wheels, and was tilted at a slant, one square end of it resting on the ground. " Why do I think of an old pit? " he thought angrily; " curse it, why can't I sleep? " Next moment he was gazing at a ruined castle, its mouldering .alls mounded atop with decaying rubble; from a loose crumb of mortar, a long, thin film of the spider's weaving stretched bellying away, to a tall weed waving on the crazy brink— Gourlay saw its glisten in the wind. He saw each crack in the wall, each stain of lichen; a myriad details stamped themselves together on his raw mind. Then a constant procession of figures passed across the inner curtain of his closed eyes. Each figure was cowled; but when it came directly opposite, it turned and looked at him with a white face. " Stop^ stop! " cried his mind, " I don't want to think of you.' I don't want to think of you, I don't want to think of you! Go away!" But as they came of themselves, so they went of themselves. He could not banish them. He turned on his side, but a hundred other pictures pursued him. From an inland hollow he saw the great dawn flooding up from the sea, over a sharp line of cliflF, wave after wave of brilliance surging up the heav- ens. The landward slope of the cliff was gray with [343] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS dew. The inland hollow was full of little fields, di- vided by stone walls, and he could not have recalled the fields round Barbie with half their distinctness. For a moment they possessed his brain. Then an au- tumn wood rose on his vision. He was gazing down a vista of yellow leaves; a long, deep slanting cleft, framed in lit foliage. Leaves, leaves; everywhere yellow leaves, luminous, burning. He saw them falling through the lucid air. The scene was as vivid as fire to his brain, though of magic stillness. Then the foliage changed suddenly to great serpents twined about the boughs. Their colours were of monstrous beauty. They glis- tened OS they moved. He leapt in his bed with a throb of horror. Could this be the delirium of drink? But no; he had often had an experience like this when he was sleepless; he had the learned description of it pat and ready; it was only automatic visualisation. Damn! Why couldn't he sleep? He flung out of bed, uncorked a bottle with his teeth, tilted it up, and gulped the gurgling fire in the darkness. Ha! that was better. His room was already gray with the coming dawn. He went to the window and opened it. The town was stirring uneasily in its morning sleep. Somewhere in the distance a train was shunting; clank, clank, chnk went the waggons. What an accursed sound! A dray went past the end of his street rumbling hollowly, and the rumble died drearily away. Then the footsteps of an early workman going to his toil were heard in the deserted thoroughfare. Gourlay looked down and saw him pass far beneath him on the glimmering pavement. [244] OHAPTEK TWENTY-THREE He was whistling. Why did the fool whistle? What had he got to whistle about? It was unnatural that one man should go whistling to his work, when another had not been able to sleep the whole night long. He took another vast glut of wh'skey, and the mo- ment after was dead to the world. He was awakened at eight o'clock by a monstrous hammering on his door. By the excessive loudness of the first knock he heard on returning to consciousness, he knew that his landlady had lost her temper in trying to get him up. Ere he could shout si'.e had thumped again. He stared at the ceiling in sullen misery. The middle of his tongue was as dry as bark. For his breakfast there were thick slabs of rancid bacon, from the top of which two yellow eggs had spewed themselves away among the cold gravy. His gorge rose at them. He nibbled a piece of dry bread and drained the teapot; then shouldering into his great- coat he tramped off to the University. It was a wretched morning. The wind had veered once more, and a cold drizzle of rain was falling through a yellow fog. The reflections of the street lamps in the sloppy pavement, went down through spiral gleams, to an infinite depth of misery. Young Gourlay's brain was aching from his last night's debauch, and his body was weakened with the want both of sleep and food. The cold yellow mist chilled him to the bone. What a fool I was to get drunk last night, he thought. Why am I here? Why am I trudging through mud and misery to the University? What has it all got to do with me? Oh, what a fool I am, what a fool! " Drown dull care," said the Devil in his ear. [246] s9 ii [ : «; i=k»^„- THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS He took a sixpence from his trouser pocket, and looked down at the white bit of money in his hand, till it was wet with the falling rain. Then he went into a ilashy tavern, and, standing by a sloppy bar, drank sixpenny- worth of cheap whiskey. It went to his head at once, owing to his want of food, and with a dull warm feeling in his body, he lurched off to his first lecture for the day. His outlook on the world had changed. The fog was now a comfortable yellowness. " Freedom and whiskey gang ihegither, Tak aff your dram," he quoted to his own mind. "iThat stuff did me good. Whis- key's the boy to fettle you." He was ir. his element the moment he entered the classroom. 11 was a bear garden. The most moral in- dividual has his days of perversity when a malign fate compels him to show the worst he has in him. A Scotch TJnivei-sity class— which is many most moral in- dividuals—has a similar eruptive tendency when it gets into the hands of a weak professor. It will behave well enough for a fortnight, then a morning comes when nothmg can control it. This was a morning of the kmd. The lecturer, who was an able man but a weak- ling, had begun by apologising for the condition of his voice, on the ground that he had a bad cold. Instantly every man in the class was blowing his nose. One fel- low, of a most portentous snout, who could trumpet like an elephant, with a last triumphant snort sent his handkerchief across the room. When called to account for his conduct, "Really, sir," he said, "er-er-oom— bad cold!" Uprose a universal sneeze. Then the " roughing " began, to the tune of " John Brown's body he« a-mouldering in the erave "—which no man seemed [246] CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE to sing, but every man could hear. They were playing the tune with their feet. The lecturer glared with white repugnance at his tor- mentors. Young Gourlay flung himself heart and soul into the cruel baiting. It was partly from hia usual love of showing off, partly from the drink still seething within him; but largely, also, as a reaction from his morning's misery. This was another way of drowning reflection. The morbidly gloomy one moment, often shout madly on the next. At last the lecturer plunged wildly at the door and flung it open. " Go! " he shrieked, and pointed in su- perb dismissal. A hundred and fifty barbarians sat where they were, and laughed at him; and he must needs come back to the platform, with a baffled and vindictive glower. He was just turning, as it chanced, when young Gour- lay put his hands to his mouth, and bellowed " Coch-a- doodle-do ! " Ere the roar could swell, the lecturer had leapt to ti > front of the rostrum with flaming eyes. " Mr. Gourlay," he screamed furiously, " you there, sir; you will apolo- gise humbly to me for this outrage at the end of the hour." There was a womanish shrillness in the scream, a kind of hysteria on the stretch, that (contrasted with his big threat) might have provoked them at other times to a roar of laughter. But there was a sincerity in his rage to-day that rose above its faults of manner, and an immediate silence took the room— the more impreBsive [247 1 THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS for the fonner noise. Every eye turned to Gourlay. He sat gaping at the lecturer. If he had been swept to the anteroom there and then, he would have been cowed by the suddenness of his own change, from a loud tormentor in the company of others, to a silent culprit in a room alone. And apologies would have been ready to tumble out, while he was thus loosened by surprise and fear. Unluckily he had time to think, and the longer he thought the more sullen he became. It was only an accident that led to his discovery, while the rest es- caped, and that thd others should escape, when they were just as much to blame as he was, was an injustice that made him furious. His anger was equally divided between the cursed mischance itself, the teacher who had " jumped " on him so suddenly, and the other row- dies who had escaped to laugh at his discomfiture; he had the same burning resentment to them all. When he thought of his chuckling fellow-students they seemed to engross his rage; when he thought of the mishap he damned it and nothing else; when he thought of the lecturer he felt he had no rage to fling away upon others — ^the Snuifler took it all. As his mind shot backwards and forwards in an angry gloom, it suddenly encoun- tered the image of his father. Not a professor of the lot, he reflected, could stand the look of black Glourlay. And he wouldn't knuckle under, either, so he wouldn't. He came of a hardy stock. He would show theml He wasn't going to lick dirt for any man. Let him punish all or none, for they had all been kicking up a row — why big Cunningham had been braying like an ass only a minute before. [248] CHAPTEK TWENTV-TIIREE He spied Armstrong and Gillespie glinting across at him with a curious look— they were wondering whether he had courage enough to stand to his guns with a pro- fessor. He knew the meaning of the look, and resented it. He was on his mettle before them, it seemed. The fellow who had swaggered at the Howff last night about " what he would do if a jirofessor jumped on him," mustn't prove wanting in the present trial, oeneath the eyes of those on whom he had imposed his blatancy. When we think of what Gourlay did that day, we must remember that he was soaked in alcohol; not merely with his morning's potation, but with the dregs of pre- vious carousals. And the dregs of drink, a thorough toper will tell you, never leave him. He is drunk on Monday with his Saturday's debauch. As " Drucken Wabster" of Barbie put it once, "When a body's hard-up, his braith's a consolation." If that be so— and Wabster, remember, was an expert whose opinion on this matter is entitled to the highest credence— if that be so, it proves the strength and persistence of a thor- ough alcoholic impregnation, or as Wabster called it, of "a good soak." In young Gourlay's case, at any rate, the impregnation was enduring and complete. He was like a rag steeped in fusel oil. As the end of the hour drew near, he sank deeper in his dogged sullenness. When the class streamed from the large door on the right, he turned aside to the little anteroom on the left, with an insolent swing of the shoulders. He knew the fellows were watching him curiously— he felt their eyes upon his back. And, therefore, as he went through the little door, he stood for a moment on his right foot, and waggled his left [ 849 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS on a level with his hip behind, in a vulgar derision of them, the professor, and the whole situation. That was a fine taunt flung back at them! There is nothing on earth more vindictive than a weakling. When he gets a chance he takes revenge for everything his past cowardice forced him to endure. The timid lecturer, angry at the poor figure he had cut on the platform, was glad to take it out of young Oour- lay for the wrong-doing of the class. Gourlay was their scapegoat. The lecturer had no longer over a hun- dred men to deal iwith, but one lout only, sullen yet shrinking in the room before him. Instead of coming to the point at once, he played with his victim. It was less from intentional cruelty than from on instinctive desire to recover his lost feeling of superiority. The class was his master, but here was one of them he could cowe at any rate. "Well?" he asked, bringing his thin finger-tips to- gether, and flinging one thigh across the other. Gourlay shuffled his feet uneasily. "Yes?" enquired the other, enjoying his discom- fiture. Gourlay lowered. "Whatna gate was this to gang on? Why couldn't he let a blatter out of his thin mouth, and ha' done wi't? " " I'm waiting! " said the lecturer. The words " I apologize " rose in Gourlay, but refused to ppss his throat. No, he wouldn't, so he wouldn't! He would see the lecturer far enough, ere he gave an apology before it was expressly required. " Oh, that's the line you go on, is it? " said the lec- turer, nodding his head as if he had sized up a curious [ 350 ] CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE JTT'^ "^ T' ^ '^'' ^''" '^"» contumacy to inw,- lence, do you? .... Imphm." Gourlay was not quite sure what contumacy meant and the uncertainty added to his anger blurted. "I don't see why / should be blamed for T f hint' ^"ll.'^r'' "^ "^^ J""" "•'""''^ »"' '"'d "P. indeed? I S r'" "°*^ ^"^ *° " ''''^"*'°* •conclusion. Yes, h^nV ^ * *iT" ''"'^"'K '° " •^"^nken stupor. He Winked at the lecturer like an angry owl-the blinking regard of a sodden mind, yet fiery with a spiteful rage His wwth was rising and falling like a quick tide. He would have hked one moment to give a rein to the Gourlay temper, and let the lecturer have it hot and strong—the next,he was quivering in a cowardly horror of the desperate attempt ho had so nearly made. Curse his tormentor! Why did he keep him here, when his head was aching so badly? Another taunt was enough to spnng his drunken rage. " I wonder what you think yon came to College for? » said the lecturer « I have been looking at your records in the class. They're the worst I ever saw. And you're not content with that, it seems. You add misbehaviour to gross stupidity." " To Hell wi' yel " said Gourlay. There was a feeling in the room as if the air was stunned. The silence throbbed. The lecturer, who had risen, sat down suddenly as if going at the knees, and went white about the irills [251] !■•. THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Some men would have swept the ruffian with a burst of generous wrath, a few miglit liuve pitied in their anger — but this young Solomon was tliin and acid, a vindic- tive rat. Unable to cowe tlie insolent in present and full-blooded rage, he fell to tliinliing of the great ma- chine he might set in motion to destroy him. As he sat tliere in silence, his eyes grew ferrety, nnil ii sleek revenge peeped from the torncrs of his mouth. " I'll show him what I'll do to him for this! " is a transla- tion of his thought. He was thinking, with groat satis- faction to himself, of how the Senatus would deal with young Gourlay. Gourlay grew weak with fear the moment the words escaped him. They had been a thunderclap to his own ears. He had been thinking them, but — as he pleaded far within him now — had never meant to utter them; they had been mere spume off the surge of cowardly wrath seething up within him, longing to burst but afraid. It was the taunt of stupidity that fired his drunken vanity to blurt them forth. The lecturer eyed him sideways where he shrank in fear. " You may go," he said at last. " I will report your conduct to the University." Gourlay was sitting alone in his room when he heard that he had been expelled. For many days he had drunk to deaden fear, but he was sober now, being newly out of bed. A dreary ray of sunshine came through the window, and fell on a wisp of flame, blinking in the grate. As Gourlay sat, his eyes fixed dully on the faded ray, a flash of intuition laid his character bare to him. He read himself ruthlessly. It was not by conscious [853] CHAPTER TWENTy-THUEE effort; insight wa« uncanny and apart from will. He sav that blataney had joined with weakness, morbidity with want of brains; and that the rcKults of tho«.., converKine to a point, had produced the present issue, his ex|.uUion H.8 nund recognised how logical the issue »aK, assenlinK wearily as to a problem j.roved. Given those qualities •n t osc circumstances, what else could have happened"- And such a weakling as he knew himself to be, could never-he thought-make effort sunicient to alter his •lualities. A sense of fatalism came over him, as of one doomtHl. He bowed his head, and let his arms fall by the Sides of his chair, dropping them like a spent swim- mer ready to sink. The sudden revelation of hinuelf to himself had taken the heart out of him "I'm a waster! " he said aghast. And then, at the sound of his own voice a fear came over him, a fear of his own na- ture, and he started to his feet and strode feverishly, as If by mere locomotirn, to escape from nis clinging and ;:ori^,^''^'^'""''"--'^'°«*--way I ^A 'ff.'' '■"""'^ "* *'"' '"''■'■'"■ °° his mantel, and looked at his own image with staring and stariled eyes, his mouth open the breath coming hard through his nostrils. "You're a gey ill ane," he said: "You're a gey ^,11 ane! My God, where have you ' ndod your- He went out to escape from his thoughts. Instinc- tively he turned to the Howff for consolation With the panic despair of the weak, he abandoned mto a wild debauch, to avoid reflecting where it would lead him m the end. But he had a more definite reason [263] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS fur prulonging his bout in Kdinburgh. Ho was afraid to gu home and meet his father. Ho shrank, in vition- ing fear, before the dour face, loaded with scorn, that would swing round to meet him as he entered through the door. Though he swore every night in hii cupi that he would " square up to the Governor the morn, so he would!" alwayu, when the cold light came, fear of the interview drove him to iiis cups again. His courage zigzagged, as it always did; one moment he towered in inmgination, the next he grovelled in fear. . Sometimes, when he wus fired with whiskey, another element entered into his moud, no less big with de- struction. It was all his father's fuult for sending him to Edinburgh, and no matter what happened, it would serve the old fellow right! He had a kind of fierce sat- isfaction in his own ruin, because his ruin would show them at home what a mistake they had made in sending him to College. It was the old man's tyranny, in forcing him to College, that had brought all this on hi» miser- able head. Well, he was damned glad, so he was, that they should be punished at home by their own foolish scheme — it hod punished Am enough, for one. And then he would set his mouth insolent and hard, and drink the more fiercely, finding a consolation in the thought that his tyrannical father would suffer through his degradation, too. At last he must go home. He drifted to the station aimlessly; he had ceased to be self-determined. Hia compartment happened to be empty; so, free to behare as he liked, he yelled music-hall snatches in a tuneleaa voice, hammering with his feet on the wooden floor. [264] OUAPTKR TWENTV-TUREE The nuiHe pleaaed his soddvn mind which had narrowed to 8 comfortable stupor — uutHidu of which his troublca seemed to lie, aa if they belonged not to him but to somebody else. With liu Kainc sodden interest ho was staring through the > luiuw, at one of the little sta- tions on the lino, wlicn n „i y, i"ii.i. iiig, said, " Flat white hum! " and Uourli > Inj^lu tl iipi.^ar nn ly, adding at the end: "He's a ilvcr ilae'ii. tliii'; I'lj nose would look flat and white ii^'iiiit Ui< 1 arc ' I'm liiis outbreak of mirth seemed ti. i>retik in jii Uih i'oiiitirtablc vagueness; it roused him by r ki.xi <if faction to think of home, and of what his fiitl li wmld -.y. A minute after he had been laughing su tmnily, Ir: »iis staring sullenly in front of him. Well, il didn't matter; it was all the old fellow's fault, and he wasn't going to stand any of his jaw. " None of your jaw, John Gourlay! " he said, nodding his head viciously, and thrusting out his clenched flst, " none of your juw, d'ye hear? " He crept into Barbie through the dusk. It had been market day and knots of people were still abuul the streets. Uourlay stole softly through the shadows, and turned his coat-collar high about his ears. He nearly ran into two men who were talking apart, and his heart stopped dead at their words. " No, no, Mr. Gourlay," said one of them, " it's quite impossible. I'm not unwilling to oblige ye, but I can- not take the risk." John heard the mumble of his father's voice. " Well," said the other reluctantly, " if ye get the baker and Tarn Wylie for security? I'll be on the street for another half hour." [266] TH£ HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS "Another half hour!" thought John with relief. He would not have to face his father the moment he went in. He would be able to get home before him. He crept on through the gloaming to the House with the Green Shutters. [3S6] XXIV Thehe had been fine cackling in Barbie, as Gourlay's men dropped away from lum one by one; and now it L wo^e than ever. When Jimmy Bain and Sandy cZ were d«m.ssod last winter, "He canna last long now," mused the bodies, and then when even Riney cot the The downfall of Gourlay had an unholy fascination for his neighbours. And that not morel y boeause of their dishke to the man. That was a whet to (heir curiosity, of course, but, over and above it, they seemed to be watching, with bated breath, for the iinal collapse of an edifice that was bound to fall. Simple expectation held them. It was a dramatic intcrest-of suspense, yet certainty- hat had them in its grip. '• He's 6<,„;/to come down," said Certainty-" Yes, but when, though' " cried Curiosity, all the more eager because of its instinct for the coming crash And so they waited for the great catastrophe which they felt to be so near. It was as if they were watching a tragedy near at hand, and noting with keen interest eveiy step in it that must lead to ineviteble rum. That invariably happens when a family tragedy is played out in the midst of a small community. KitW '" ,'* \^T'''^ ^^'^ « P-ying interest, that 18 neither malevolent nor sympathetic, but simply curi- ous. In this case it was chiefly malevolent, only be- caiwe Gourlay had been such a brute to Barbie [ 257 j THE HOUSE WITH THE GBEEN SHUTTERS Though there were thus two reasons for public inter- est, the result was one and the same, a constant tittle- tattling. Particular spite and a more general curiosity brought the grain merchant's name on to every tongue. Not even in the gawcey days of its prosperity had the House with the Green Shutters been so much talked of. " Pride will have a downcome," said some, with a gleg look and a smack of the lip, trying to veil their personal malevolence in a common proverb. "He's simply in debt in every corner," goldered the keener spirits; " he never had a brain for business. He's had money for stuff he's unable to deliver! Not a day gangs by but the big blue envelopes are coming. How do I ken? say ye! How do I ken, indeed? Oh-ooh, I ken perfectly. Perfectly! It was Postie himsell that telled me!" Yet all this was merely guesswork. For Gourlay had hitherto gone away from Barbie for his monies and ac- commodations, 60 that the bodies could only surmise; they had nothing definite to go on. And through it all, the gurly old fellow kept a brave front to the worid. He was thinking of retiring, he said, and gradually drawing in his business. This offhand and lordly, to hide the patent diminution of his trade. " Hi-hi! " said the old Provost, with a cruel laugh, when he heard of Gourlay's remark, "drawing in his business, aye! It's like Lang Jean Lingleton's waist, I'm thinking. It's thin-eneugh drawn a'readyj! " On the morning of the last market day he was ever to see in Barbie, old Gourlay was standing at the green gate, when the postman came up with a smirk, and put a letter in his hand. He betrayed a wish to hover in [368] CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR goMip, while Gourlay opened his letter, but " Leas lini " said surly John, and the fellow went away. Ere he had reached the comer, a gowl of anger and grief struck his ear, and he wheeled eagerly Gourlay was standing with open mouth and out- stretched arni, staring at the letter in his clenched iist with a look of horror, as if it had stung him. thole?' ^'^'" ^" '""•' "'""^ ^ "•" «»°"eh to "Ahal " thought Postie, "yon letter Wilson got this morning was correct, then! His son had sent the true stoiy. That letter o' Gourlay's had the Edinburgh post- f '?r^^*'""^y ^^ '«"* '»'" "'"••d about his son- Lord! What a tit-bit for my rounds." Mrs. Gourlay, who was washing dishes, looked up to see her husband standing in the kitchen door. His face frightened her. She had often seen the blaze in his eye, and often the dark scowl, but never this bloodless pallor m his cheek. Yet his eyes were flaming. himr "■'"''" ''^ ^'"'^' " " '^°* ^°^ ^°" ^^""^ """'® °* "Oh, what is it?" she quavered, and the dish she was wipmg clashed on the floor. "That's it!" said he, "that's it! Breck the dishes next; breok the dishes! Everything seems gaun to 'T ;,u ^^''^*'' "^ '""K *"*"e^' y«'» P"t a bonny end till't or ye're bye wi't— the lot o' ye." The taunt passed in the anxiety that stormed her. Tell me, see! " she cried, imperious in stress of ap- peal. 'Oil, what is it, John? " She stretched out her thin, red hands, and clasped them tightly before her Is it from Embro? Is there ainything the matter [359] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERts witli 1111/ boy? Is there aiiiylliing tlie matter with iny boy ? " The hard eye surveyed hor a while in grim contempt of her weakness. She whs a fhitleriiig thing in his grip. " Everij thing's tlie iiiatter with your boy," he sneered slowly, " every thing's the matter with your boy. —And it's your fault, too, damn you, for you always 8poile<l liim! " With sudden wrath he strode over to the famous range and threw the letter witliin the great fender. " What is it? " he cried, wheeling round on his wife. " The son you were so wild about sending to College has been flung in disgrace from its door! That's what it is! " He swept from the house like a madman. Mrs. Gourlay sank into her old nursing chair and wailed, " Oh, my wean, my wean; my dear; my poor dear! " 8he drew the letter from the ashes, but could not read it for her tears. The words " drunkenness " and " e.xpulsion " swam before her eyes. The manner of his disgrace she did not care to hear; she only knew her first-born was in sorrow. "Oh, my son, my son," she cried; "my laddie; my wee laddie! " She was thinking of the time when he trotted at her petticoat. It was market day, and (iourlay must face the town. There was interest due on n mortga^;^ which he could not pay; he must swallow his pride and try to borrow it in Barbie. He thought of trying Johnny Coe, for .lolmny was of yielding nature, and had never been unfriendly. He turned, twenty yards from his gate, and looked at the House with the (\vcm Shutters. He had often [260] CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR turned to look back with pride at the gaweey buildinj; on its terrace; but never as he looked to-day. All that his life meant, was bound up in that house, it had been the pride of the Gourlays; now it was no longer his, and the Gourlays' pride was in the dust — their name a by- word. As Gourlay looked, a robin was perched on the quiet rooftree, its breast vivid in the sun. One of his metaphors flashed at the sight. " Shame is sitting there, too," he muttered — and added with a proud angry snarl, " on the riggin' o' my hoose! " He had a triple wrath to his son. He had not only ruined his own life, he had destroyed his father's hope that by entering the ministry he might restore the (iuur- lay reputation. Above all he had disgraced the House with the Green Shutters. That was the crown of his offending. Gourlay felt for the house of his pride even more than for himself — rather the house was him- self; there was no division between them. He had built it bluff to represent him to the world. It was his char- acter in stone and lime. He clung to it, as the dull, fierce mind, unable to live in thought, clings to a ma- terial source of pride. And John had disgraced it. Even if fortune took a turn for the better. Green Shut- ters would be laughed at the country over, as the home of a prodigal. As he went by the Cross, Wilson (Provost this long while) broke off a conversation with Templandnmir, to yell " It's gra-and weather, Mr. Gourlay! " The men had not spoken for years. So to shout at poor Gourlay in his black hour, from the pinnacle of civic gieatness, was a fine stroke; it was gloating, it was rub- bing in the contrast. The words were innocent, but [861] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS that wa« nothing; whatever the remark, for a declared enemy to address Gourhiy in his shame, was an insult: that was why Wilson addressed him. There was some- thing m the very loudness of his tones that cried plainly: Aha, Oourlay! Your son has disgraced you, my man! " Gourlay glowered at the animal and plodded dourly ^^ . f °' **° ^"^ * 'o"™' '»"«h came bellow- mg behind h.m. They saw the colour surge up the back of his neck, to the roots of his hair aWy ? He had hoped to get through the market day without anybody knowing. But Wilson had a son in Edinburgh; he had written, it was like. The salutation, therefore and the laugh, had both been uttered in de- rision. He wheeled, his face black with the passionate blood. His mouth yawed with anger. His voice had a moan of intensity. " What are 'ee laughing at? " he said, with a master- "ig quietness .... "Eh? ... . Just tell me, please what you're laughing at." ..^J"^ crouching for the grip, his hands out like a gonll»s. The quiet voice, from the yawing mouth ben«jti, the steady flaming eyes, was deadly. There is' something inhuman in a rage so still. " Eh? " he said slowly, and the moan seemed to come from the midst of a vast intensity rather than a human being. It was the question that must grind an answer ...i^T ^"7»'''"» '« «" '•« «ods that he had not in- sulted this awful man. He remembered what had hap- pened to Oibson. This, he had heard, was the ve J voice with which Qouriay moaned: "Take your hand off my shouther! ere he huried Gibson through the [262] CHAPTER TWENTV-FOUB window of the Bed Lion. Barbie might soon want . new Provost, if he ran in now. fn,^"* *,"!,* " "^r^" '""' ""y °^ «"«1'°8 punishment for a veiled msult, and of adding to its sting by your evasion. Bepudiate the remotest thought of the pro- tester. Thus you enjoy your previous gibe, with the add tioiu.1 pleasure of making your victim seem a fool, for thinking you referred to him. You not only insult ti!!^ Tv. wwV"°""*' ''"* """^ ^'^ °ff '^"h an addi- tional hint, that he isn't worth your notice. Wilson was an adept m the art. " ^""^ " ''^"^ Wandly-but his voice was quivering - Ma-a-an, I wasn't so much as giving ye a tlioat! fnend Templandmuir, without you calling me to book. It s a free county, I shuppose! Ye weren't in my mind at a-all. i have more important matters to think of " he ventured to add, seeing he had baffled (Jourlay ' For Qourlay was baffled. For a director insult an offensive gesture, one fierce word, he would have ham- mered the road with the Provost. But he was helpless before the bland quivering lie. Maybe they werena re- ferring to him, maybe they knew nothing of John in Edinburgh, maybe he had been foolishly .suspeccious A subtle yet baffling check was put upon his anger Madman as he was in wrath, he never struck without direct provocation; there was none in this pulpy gentle- ness. And he was too dull of wit, to get round the com- mon ruse and find a means of getting at them. He let loose a great breath through his nostriU as If releasing a deadly force which he had p«it within him, ready should he need to spring. His mouth opened f 263 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS iiKaiii, and ho gaped at tliein with a great, round, UMee- ing stare. Then he swung on his heel. But wrath clung round him like a garment. His an- ger fed on its uncertainties. For that is the beauty of the Wilso!-. Tiethod of insult; you leave the poison in your victiri ( blood, and he torments himself. " Was Wilson ref'.ji .:g to me, after all? " he pondered slowly; and his Wl.: surged at the thought. " If he was, I have let him get away unkilled "—and he clutched the hands whence Wilson had escaped. Suddenly a flashing thought stopped him dead in the middle of his walk, staring homily before him. He had seen the point at last, that a quicker man would have seized on at the first. Why had Wilson thrust his damned voice on him on this particular morning of all days in the year, if he was not gloating over some news which he had just heard about the Oourlays? It was as plain as dnvlight; his son had sent word from Edinburgh. That was why he braved and ho-ho-ho'ed when Oourlay went by. Gourlay felt a great flutter of pulses against his collar; there -.vas a pam m his throat, an ache of madness in his br»ast. He turned once more. But Wilson and the Templar had withdrawn discreetly to the Black Bull; the street wasna canny. Oourlay resumed his wav, his being a dumb gowl of rage. His angry thought swept to John. tMh insult, and fancied insult, he endured that .lay, was another item in the long account of vengeance with his son. It was John who had brought all this flaming lound his ears-^Tohn whose colleging he had lippened to so muckle. TIio staff on which he leaned had I'lerced him. By the eternal heavens he would tramp 11. into atoms. His legs felt John beneath them. [264 J CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUB As the market grew busy, Oourlay w«« the aim of innumerable eyes. He woaW turn his head to find him- self the object of a queer considering look— then the eyes of the starer would flutter abashed, as though de- tected spying the forbidden. The most innocent look at him was pcison. "Do they know?" was his con- stant thought: « Have they heard the news? Whafs Loranogie looking at me like that for? " Xot a nwn ventured to address him" about John-he had cowed them too long. One man, however, shewed a wish to try A pretended sympathy, from behind the veil of which you probe a man's anguish at your ease 18 a favourite weapon of human beasts anxious to wound' I he Deacon longed to try it on Oourlay. But his cour- age failed him. It was the only time he was ever worsted in malignity. Never a man went forth, bowed down with a recent shame, wounded and wincing from the public gaze, but that old rogue hirpled up to him and lisped with false smoothness: " Thirce me, neebour' I m thorry for ye! Tliith ith a terribU atmir! It'th on everybody'th tongue. But ye have mv thvmpirthv, nee- bour— ye have tha-at. Mv w.rmPtlit thvmpathy"— and all the while, the shifty eyes abore the lying mouth would peer and probe, to see if the soul within the other was writhing at his words. Now, though everybody was spying at Oourlay in the market, all were giving him a wide berth; for they knew that he was dangerous. He was no longer the man whom they had baited on the way to .Skeighan; then he had some control, now three years' calamities had iretted his temper to a raw wound. To flick it was penlous. Oreat was the surprise of the starers, there- [266] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS fore, when the idle old Deacon wm seen to detach him- self, and hail the grain merchant. Qourlay wheeled, and waited with a levelled eye. Ml were agog at the sight— something would be sure to come o' this — here would be an encounter worth the speaking o'. But the Deacon, having toddled forward a bittock on his thin shanks, stopped half-roads, took snuff, trumpeted into his big red handkerchief, and then, feebly waving, " I'll thee ye again, Dyohn! " clean turned tail and toddled back to his cronies. A roar went up at his expense. " GodI " said Tam Wylie, " did ye see yon? Gourlay stopped him wi' a glower." But the laugh was maddening to Gourlay. Its readi- ness, its volume, shewed him that scores of folk had him in their minds, were watching him, considering his position, cognisant of where he stood. " They ken," he thought. " They were a' waiting to see what would happen. They wanted to watch how Gourlay tholed the mention o' his son's disgrace. I'm a kind o' show to them." Johnny Coe, idle and well-to-pass, though he had no business of his own to attend to, was always pres- ent where business men assembled. It was a gra-and way of getting news. To-day, however, Gourlay could not fij.l him. He went into the cattle mart to see if hs was there. For two years now. Barbie had a market for cattle, on the first Tuesday of the n\onth. The auctioneer, a jovial dog, was in the middle of his roaring game. A big, red bullock, the coat of which made a rich colour in the ring, curne bounding in, scared [266] OHAPTEK TWENTV-FOUB at it* •urroundingi— »taring one moment and the next careering. " There'* meat for you," laid he of the hammer; " gee how it runsl How much am I offered for this fine bullock? " He eing-aonged, alwayi laying " this fine bullock " in exactly the same tone of yoice. " Thirteen pound* for this fine bullock, thirteen-five; thirteen-teii; thirtcen-ten for this fine bullock; thirteen-ten; any further bids on thirteen-tcn ?— why, it'* worth that for the colour o't; thark ye, sir— thirteen-fiftcen; fourlocti pounds; fourteen pounds for this fine bullock; see liow the stot stot** about the ring; that joke should raise liim another half sovereign; ah, I knew it would— fourteen- five; fourteen-flve for thin fine bullock; fourteen-ten; no more than fourteen-ten for this fine bullock; going at fourteen-ten; gone — Irrendavie." Now that he was in the circle, however, the mad, big, handsome beast refused to go out again. When the cattlemen would drive him to the yard, he snorted and galloped round, till he had to be driven from the ring with blows. When at last he bounded through the door, he flung up hi* heels with a bellow, and sent the sand of his arena showering on the people round. " I seh! " roared Brodie in his coarsest voice, from the side of the ring opposite to Qourlay. "I seh, owo- tioner! That maun be a College-bred stot, from the way he behaves. He fiung dirt at his masters and had to be expelled." "Put Brodie in the ring and rowp himi " cried Irren- davie. " He roars like a bill at ony rate." There was a laugh at Brodie, true; but it was at Gour- ♦ <S/o<, a bullock: lo alol, to bound. [267] MiaocOfY lESOUITION TBI CHART (ANSI a.id ISO TEST CHART No. 2) |2fl 1^ \3.i fUm i ■ 2.0 1.8 ^N^b^ _^ APPLIED IIVHGE In ^g". '6^^ toit Moin Street 5-^B Rochester, New York 1*109 u'^ :S (^'6) *82 - 0300 - Phone ^^ ^S (''6) 38e - 5989 - Fox THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS lay that a hundred big red faces turned to look. He did not look at them, though. He sent his eyes across the ring at Brodie. " Lord! " said Irrendavie, " it's weel for Brodie that the ring's acqueesh them! Gourlay'U murder some- body yet. Red hell lap out o' his e'en when he looked at Brodie." Gourlay's suspicion that his son's disgrace was a mat- ter of common knowledge, had now become a certainty. Brodie's taunt shewed tliat everybody knew it. He walked out of the building very quietly, pale but reso- lute; no meanness in his carriage, no cowering. He was an arresting figure of a man as he stood for a mo- ment in the door, and looked round for the man whom he was seeking. " Weel, weel," he was thinking, " I maun thole, I suppose. They were under my feet for many a day, and they're taking their advantage now." But though he could thole, his anger against John was none the less. It was because they had been under his feet for many a day that John's conduct was the more heinous. It was his son's conduct that gave Gour- lay's enemies their first opportunity against him, that enabled them to turn the tables. They might sneer at his trollop of a wife, they might sneer at his want of mere cleverness; still he held his head high amongst them. They might suspect his poverty; but so far, for anything they knew, he might have thousands behind him. He owed not a man in Barbie. The appoint- ments of Green Shutters were as brave as ever. The selling of his horses, the dismissal of his men, might mean the completion of a fortune, not its loss. Hither- to, then, he was invulnerable — so he reasoned. It was [268] CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR liis son's disgrace that gave the men he Imd trodden under foot the first weapon they could use against him Ihat was why it was more damnable in Gourlay's eves than the conduct of all the prodigals that ever lived. It had enabled his f<;Ps to get their knife into him at last-and they were turning the dagger in the wound All owmg to the boy on whom he had staked such hopes of keeping up the Gourlay name! His account with John was lengthening steadily. Coe was nowhere to be seen. At last Gourlay made up his mind to go out and make enquiries at his house, out the rieckie Road. It was a quiet big house, standing by Itself, and Gourlay was glad there was nobody to see him. "^ It was Miss Coe herself who answered his knock at the door. She was a withered old shrew, with fifty times the spunk of Johnny. On her thin wrists and long hands (here was always a pair of bright red mittens, only her finger-tips showing. Her far-sunken and toothless mouth was always working, with a sucking motion of the lips; and her round little knob of a sticking out chin munched up and down when she spoke, a long stiff whitish hair slanting out its middle. However much you wished to avoid doing so, you could not keep your eyes from staring at that solitary hair while she was addressing you. It worked up and down so, keeping time to every word she spoke. " Is your brother in? » said Gourlay. He was too near reality m this sad pass of his to think of "mistering" Is your brother in? " said he. «No-a! " she shrilled— for Miss Coe answered quea- [269] I, II THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTEB8 tions with an old-maidish scream, as if the news she was giving must be a great surprise, both to you and her "No-a!" she skirled; "he's no-a in-a! Was it ainv^ thing particular? " '' " No," said Gourlay heavily; " I— I just wanted to see inm, and he trudged away. Miss Coe looked after him for a moment ere she closed the door. " He's wanting to barrow money," she cried; J m nearly sure o't! I maun caution Johnny when he comes back frae Fleckie, afore he gangs east the toon. Gourlay could get him to do ocht! He always admired the brutfr-I'm sure I kenna why. Because he's siccan a silly body himsell, I suppose! " It was after dark when Gourlay met Coe on the street. He drew him aside in the shadows, and asked for a loan of eighty pounds. Johnny stammered a refusal. " Hauf the bawbees is mine, his sister had skirled, " and I daur ye to do ony siccan thing, John Coe! " ■> J r^ "}^!t "^"'^ *°'' " '™'''" Plo^'led Gourlay— "and. by God, he flashed, " it's hell in my throat to ksk from any man. ' " ^?' "^ V^""- <^°"'"l*y'" «aid Johnny, « it's quite im- possible. I've always looked up to ye, and I'm not unwilling to oblige ye, but I cannot take the risk." Risk! " said Gourlay, and stared at the darkness. JJy hook or by crook he must raise the money to save the House with the Green Shutters. It was no use trying the bank; he had a letter from the banker in his desk, to tell him that his account was overdrawn. And yet If the interest were not paid at once, the lawyers in Glasgow would foreclose, and the Gourlays would be [270] CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUK SZhT/''!.'*"'',*- "'^ P™"'^ «°"1 «««t «at dirt, « T, T ' ^'"' *''•' '*'"' "f «-«'''y pounds, h. i /«* the baker, or Tarn Wylie, to stand security " he ^ked « wou dye not oblige me? I think they wo^d « t ,^ .'J^^^l^'oy^ felt they respected me." « if Z.U 7 kI^""^ t*'^' ^'"'""S W^ "iter's anger. bet^rstr^^/LSer'r.^^^^^^ '" ^^^"^^ ™ thrlgirSer/ot? " ^^^"' ^°**' ^"= ^-° «*-""« <"^ "God's curse on whoever that is! " snarled Gourlay creeping up to listen to our talk " """"ay. oh'l^^"'^'* *!''1''. '"'" '^''^ •^"•'"''y; " " "eemed a young chap trying to hide himself." ^ ^ Gourlay failed to get his securities. The baker Wvw! " ^.Tl'"''"' '"'"''^ '•"^^ ^tood f<»- him, if Tarn' ^Jhe would have joined; but Tam would no budg^ He was as clean as gray granite, and as hard. beaten?t"w *™^^«'!,>"'« th™«gh the darkness, beaten at 1- t, mad .-h shame and anger and fore- The first thing he saw on entering the kitchen wm h.s son-sming muffled in his coat by the great fende" [271] XXV Janet and her mother saw a qtuver run throngh Oourlay, as he stood and glowered from the threshold. He seemed of monstrous hulk and significance, filling the doorway in his silence. The quiver that went through him was a sign of his contending angers, his will struggling with the tumult of wrath that threatened to spoil his revenge. To fell that huddled oaf with a blow would he a poor return for all he had endured }>ecause of him. He meant to sweat punishment out of him drop by drop, with slow and vicious enjoyment. But the sudden sight of that living disgrace to the Oourlays woke a wild desire to leap on him at once, and glut his rage, a madness which only a will like his could control. He quivered with the effort to keep it in. To bring a beaten and degraded look into a man's face, rend manhood oi-t of him in fear, is a sight that makes decent men winco in pain; for it is an outrage on the decency of life, an offence to natural religion, a violation of the human sanctities. Tet Oourlay had done it once and again. I saw him " down " a man at the Cross once, a big man with a viking beard, dark brown, from which you would have looked for manli- ness. Gourlay, with stabbing eyes, threatened, and birred, and " downed " him, till he crept away with a face like chalk, and a hunted, furtive eye. Curiously [278] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE it was his manly beard that made the look such a pain, for its contrasting colour shewed the white face of the coward — and a coward had no right to such a beard. A grim and cruel smile went after him as he slunk away. "Ha!" barked Gourlay, in lordly and pursuing scorn, and the fellow leapt where he walked, as the cry went through him. To break a man's spirit so, take that from him which he will never recover -./hile he lives, send him slinking away animo eastrato — for that is what it comes to — is a sinister outrage of the world. It is as bad as the rape of a woman, and ranks with the sin against the Holy Ghost— derives from it, indeed. Yet it was this outrage that Gourlay meant to work upon his son. He would work him down and down, this son of his, till he was less than a man, a frightened, furtive animal. Then, perhaps, he would give a loose to his other rage, unbuckle his belt, and thrash the grown man like a wriggling urchin on the floor. As he stood glowering from the dior Mrs. Gourlay rose, with an appealing cry of 'VoAn.'"— but Gourlay put his eye on her, and she sank into her chair, staring up at him in terror. The strings of the tawdry cap she wore seemed to choke her, and she unfastened them with nervous fingers, fumbling long beneath her lifted chin to get them loose. She did not remove the cap, but let the strings dangle by her jaw. The silly bits of cloth waggling and quivering, as she turned her head repeat- edly from son to husband and from husband to son, added to her air of helplessness and inefficiency. Once she whispered with ghastly intensity, " Ood hava mercy!" For a length of time there was a loaded silence. [273] ^ THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Qourlay went up to the hearth, and looked down on his son from near at hand. John shrank down in hia great-coat. A reek of alcohol rose from around him. Janet whimpered. But when Gourlay spoke, it was with deadly quietude. The moan was in his voice. So great was his controlled wrath that he drew in great shivering breastfuls of air between the words, as if for strength to utter them; and they quavered forth on it again. He seemed weakened by h's own rage. Aye man! " he breathed .... " Ye've won hame, I observe! .... Dee-ee-«r me! ... . Im-phm! " The contrast between the lowness of his voice and his steady breathing anger that possessed the air (they felt it coming as on waves) was demoniac, appalling. John could not speak; he was paralysed by fear. To have this vast hostile force touch him, yet be still, struck him dumb. Why did his father not break out on him at once? What did he mean? What was he going to do? The jamb of the fireplace cut his right shoulder as he cowered into it, to get away as far as he could. " I'm saying .... ye've won hame! " quivered Gourlay in a deadly slowness, and his eyes never left his son. And still the son made no reply. In the silence, the ticking of the big clock seemed to fill their world. They were conscious of nothing else. It smote the ear. "Aye," John gulped at last from a throat that felt closing. The answer seemed dragged out of him by the insistent silence. " Just so-a! " breathed his father, and his eyes opened [274] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE in wide flame. He heaved with the great breath he drew ....'< Im-phm! " he drawled. He went through to the scullery at the back of the kitchen to wash his hands. Through the open door Janet and her mother— looking at each other with affrighted eyes— <;ould hear him sneering at inter- vals, "Aye man!" "Just that, nowl " . . . Im-phm! " And again, "Aye, aye! Dee-ee-ar me! in grim, falsetto irony. When he came back to the kitchen, he turned to Janet, and left his son in a suspended agony. "Aye woman, Jenny; ye're there!" he said, and nipped her ear as he passed over to his chair. " Were ye in Skeighan the day? " "Aye, faither," she answered. "And what did the Skeighan doctor say? " She raised her large pale eyes to his with a strange look. Then her head sank low on her breast. " Nothing! " she said at last. " Nothing! » said he. " Nothing for nothing, then. I hope you didna pay him? " "No, faither," she answered. "I hadna the baw- bees." " When did ye get back? " he asked. "Just after— just after—" her eyes flickered over to John, as if she were afraid of mentioning his name. " Oh, just after this gentleman! But there's noath- ing strange in tha-at; you were always after him! You were bom after him; and considered after him; he aye had the best o't!— I howp you are in good health?" he sneered, turning to his son. " It would never do for a man to break down at the outset o' a great career! [275] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS .... For ye are at the outset o' a great career; are ye na? " His speech was as soft as the foot of a tiger, fad ahcathcd as rending a cruelty. There was no escaping tlie crouching stealth of it. If ho had leapt with a roar, John's drunken fury might have lashed itself to rage. But the younger and weaker man was fascinated and helpless before the creeping approach of so mon- strous a wrath. "Eh?" asked Oourlay softly, when John made no reply, " I'm saying you're at the outset o' a great career, are ye not? Eh?" Soft as his " Eh " was in utterance, it was insinua- ting, pursuing; it had to be answered. " No," whimpered John. " Well, well; you're maybe at the end o't! Have ye been studying hard? " " Yes," lied John. " That's right! " cried his father with great hearti- ness. " There's my brave fellow! Noathing like study- ing! . . . And no doubt " — he leaned over suavely — " and no doubt ye've brought a wheen prizes home wi' ye as usual? Eh? " There was no answer. "Eh?" " No," gulped the cowerer. " Nae prizes! " cried Gourlay, and his eyebrows went up in a pretended surprise. " Nae-ae prizes! Aye, man! Few's that, na? " Young Gourlay was being reduced to the condition of a beaten child, who, when his mother asks if he has been a bad boy, is made to sob "Yes," at her knee. [276] CHAPTER TWENTV-FIVE "Ha70 you been a good boy?" she askg— « No " he pants; and " Arc you sorry for being a bad boy'> •_ '\e.r he Hobs; and "Will you be a good boy now. tlien.' — ,.8, he almost shrieks, in his desire to be at one with his .uother. Young Oourlay was being equally beaten from his own nature, equally tattered under by another personality. Only he was not asked to be a good boy. He might gang to hell for anv- th.ng auld (iourlay eared-when onee h.. had bye will, him. •' Even as he degraded his son to this state of un- natural toward ice, (iourlay felt a vast disgust swell within him that a son of his should be such a coward. Damn h.m." he thought, glowering with big-eyed contempt at the huddled creature, " he hasna the pluck o a pig! How can he stand talk like this without show- ing hes a man? When I was a child on the brisket if a man had used me, a^ ^'m using him, I would have flung mysell at him. ... , a pretty-looWng object to carry the name o' John Gourla! My God, what a ke-o of m„ life I've mado-that auld trollop for my wife, that sumph for my son, and that dying lassie for my dochter! Was it I that bred him? That'" He leapt to his feet in devilish merriment "Set out th" -spirits, Jenny! " he cried; " set out the spirits! My son Mid I must have a drink togethcr-to celebrate the occeesion; ou aye," he sneered, drawlin- out the word with sharp, unfamiliar sound, "just to celebrate the occeesion! " The vild humour that seized him was inevitable, born of a vie,.u8 effort to control a rage that was constantly increasing, fed by the sight of ...e offender. Every [ 377 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE OREEN SHITTEUS time he glanced acrou at the thing litting tnere, hi- was awept with fresh lurgos o( fury and disgutt. But hia vicious constraint curbed them under, and refused tlicin a natural expression. They sought an unnatural. Some vent they must have, and they found it in a score of wild devilries ho began to practise on his son. Wrath fed and checked, in one, brings the hell on which nmTi is built to the surface. Gourlay was transforniod. IIo had a fluency of speech, a power of banter, a rendincss of tongue, which he ha<l ntvur shewn before. lie was beyond himself. Have you heard the snarl with which a wild beast arrests the escaping prey which it has just let go in enjoying cruelty? Oourlay was that animal. For a moment he would cease to torture his son, feed his disgust with a glower; then the sight of him huddled there would wake a desire to stamp on him; but his will would not allow that, for it would spoil the sport he had set his mind on; and so he played with the victim which he would not kill. " Set out the speerits, Jenny," he birred, when she wavered in fear. " What are ye shaking for? Set out the speerits — ^just to shelcbrate the joyful c 'ceesion, ye know— aye, aye, just to shelebrate the joyful oecee- sion! " Janet brought a tray, with glasses, from the pantry. As she walked, the rims of the glasses shivered and tinkled against each other, from her trembling. Then she set a bottle on the table. Gourlay sent it crashing to the floor. " A bottlel " he roared. " A bottle for huz twa! To Hell wi' bottles! The jar, Jenny, the jar; set out the jar, lass, set out the jar. For we mean to make a ni.^ht of it, this gentleman [878] CUAI'TER TWENTV-FIVE and me. Aye," he yawed with a vicious imile, " we'll make a night o't— we two. A aight that Barbie'll re- member bang! " "Have ye ukiU o' drink?" he asked, turning to hii son. " Xo," wheezed John. "No!" cried hi« father. "I thought yo loamcd everything at Collegi'! Your eilmation'a been n.-g- letted. Hut I'll Icoch ye a lesson, or thin niiihtV bye. Aye, by (i<xi," he growlfd, " l'\\ teacli ye u lesson." Curb his temper as he might, his own behaviour was lashing to frenzy. Through (lie moaning intensity peculiar to his vicious rage, there lejipt at times a wild- beast snarl. Every time they heard it, it cut the veins of his listeners with a start of fear— it leapt so such'enlv "Ha'e, Sir! "he cried. John raised his du' white face and looked across at the bumper which h father poured him. Hut he felt the limbs too weak beneath him to go and take it. " Bide where ye are! " sneered his father, " bide where ye are! I'll wait on ye; I'll wait or \ Jfan, I waited on ye the day that ye were bo-orn! 'he heavens were hammering the world as John Oouna rode through the storm for a doctor to bring hame his heir. The world was feared, but he wasna feared," he roared in Titanic pride, "he wasna feared; no, by God, for he never met what seaured him! . . . Aye, aye," he birred sofMy again, " aye, aye, ye were ushered loudly to the world, sen-! Verra appropriate for a man who was destined to make such a name! . . . Eh? . . . Verra appropriate, serr; verra appropriate! And you'll be ushered just as loudly out o't. Oh, young Gourlay's death maun make [ 279 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS 8 splurge, ye know— a splurge to attract folk's atten- tion! " John's shaking hand was wet with the spilled whiskey. " Take it off," sneered his father, boring into him with a vicious eye; " take it off, serr; take off your dram!— Stop! Somebody wrote something about that- some poetry or other. WI-.o was it? " " I dinna ken," whimpered John. " Don't tell lies now. You do ken. I heard you mention it to Loranogie. Come on now— who was it? " " It was Burns," said John. '■ Oh, it was Bums, was it? And what had Mr. Bums to say on th( subject? Eh? " "'Freedom and whiskey gang thegither, Tak aff your dram,' " stammered John. "A verra wise remark," said Gourlay gravely. " ' Freedom and whiskey gang thegither,' " he turned the quotation on his tongue, as if he were savouring a tit-bit. « That's verra good," he approved. " You're a great admirer of Bums, I hear. Eh' " "Yes," said John. " Do what he bids ye, then. Take off your dram! It'll show what a fine free fellow you are! " It was a big, old-fashioned Scotch drinking glass, con- taining more than half-a-gill of whiskey, and John drained it to the bottom. To him it had been a deadly thing at first, coming thus from his father's hand. He had taken it into his own, with a feeling of aversion, that was strangely blended of disgust and fear. But the moment it touched his lips, desire leapt in his throat to get at it. "Good!" roared his father in mock admiration. [ 280 ] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE " God, ye have the thrapple! When I was your age that would have choked me. I must have a look at that yours. Stand up! . . . Stand up when I throat o tall'ee!" John rose swaying to his feet. Months of constant tippling, culminating in a wild debauch, had shattered him. He stood in a reeling world. And the fear weak- ening his limbs changed his drunken stupor to a heart- heaving sickness. He swayed to and fro, with a cold sweat oozing from his chalky face. " What's ado wi' the fellow? " cried Gourlay. « Oom? He's swinging like a saugh-wand. I must wa-alk round this, and have a look! " John's drunken submissiveness encouraged his father to new devilries. The ease with which he tortured him provoked him to more torture; he went on more and more viciously, as if he were conducting an experiment, to see how much the creature would bear before he turned. Gourlay was enjoying the glutting of his own wrath. He turned his son round with a finger and thumb on his shoulder, in insolent inspection, as you turn an urchin round to see him in his new suit of clothes. Then he crouched before him, his face thrust close to the other, and peered into his eyes, his mouth distent with an infernal smile. " My boy, Johnny," he said sweetly, "my boy, Johnny," and patted him gently on the cheek. John raised dull eyes and looked into his fav.ier's. Far within him a great wrath was gathering through his fear. Another voice, another self, seemed to whimper, with dull iteration, " I'll kill him; I'll kill him; by God, I'll kill him— if he doesna stop this— if he [281] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS keeps on like this at me! " But his present and material self was paralysed with fear. " Open your mouth! " came the snarl — " wider, damn ye! wider!" " Im-phm! " said Gourlay, with a critical draw) pulling John's chin about to see into him the deeper. " Im-phm! God, it's like a furnace! What's the Latin for throat? " " Guttur," said John. "Gutter!" said his father. "A verra appropriate name! Yours stinks like a cess-pool! What have you been doing till't? I'm afraid ye aren't in very good health, after a-all. . . . Eh? . . . Mrs. Gourla, Mrs. Gourla! He's in verra bad case, this son of yours, Mrs. Gourla! Fine I ken what he needs, though. Set out the brandy, Jenny, set out the brandy," he roared; " whiskey's not worth a damn for him! Stop; it was you gaed the last time; it's your turn now, auld wife, it's your turn now! Gang for the brandy to your twa John Gourlas. We're a pair for a woman to be proud of! " He gazed after his wife as she tottered to the pantry. " Your skirt's on the gape, auld wife," he sanj; " your skirt's on the gape; as use-u-al," he drawled; " as use- n-al. It was always like that; and it always scunnered me, for I aye liked things tidy — ^though I never got them. However, I maunna compleen when ye bore sic a braw son to my name. He's a great consolation! Imphm, he is that — a great consolation! " The brandy-bottle slipped from the quivering fingers and was smashed to pieces on the floor. " Hurrah! " yelled Gourlay. He seemed rapt and carried by his own devilry. The [388] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE bacchanal. " We'ro the hearty fellow .'uvi„r '" "Poor fellowi" L^ \ ^ ""' 'P'" '° '""O- thing; it's coaming to th; bifnow' Sir "'""* '° """"- do wi' ye now?" " ' " ^"^ d° K think I mean to fun iStr""/^!""'"^ '° '■"^^ '•'' "P» "«» out to their full width, and the tense slit shewed his teeth to their [ 283 ] '' I THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS roots. The gums were white. The stricture of the lips had squeezed them bloodless. He went back to the dresser once more and bent low beside it, glancing at his son across his left shoulder, with his head Hung back sideways, his right fist clenched low and ready from a curve of the elbow. It swung heavy as a mallet by his tliigh. Janet got to her knees and came shuflling across the floor on them, though her dress was tripping her, clasping her outsticteliod hands, and sobbing in appeal, " Faither, faitlier; oh, faither; for God's sake, faither! " She clung to liim. lie un- clenched his fist and lifted her away. Then he came crouching and (juivering across the floor, slowly, a gleaming devilry in the eyes that devoured his son. His hands were like outstretched claws, and shivered with each shiver of the voice that moaned, through set teeth, " What do ye think I mean to do wi' ye now? . . . What do ye think I mean to do wi' ye now? ... Ye damned sorrow and disgraer that ye are — what do ye think I mean to do wi' ye now? " " Ru"^, John! " screamed Mrs. Gourlay, leaping to her feet. With a hunted cry young Oourlay sprang to the door. So great had been the fixity of Gourlay's wrath, so tense had he been in one direction, as he moved slowly on his prey, that he could not leap to prever him. As John plunged into the cool, soft darkness, his mother's " Thauk God! " rang past him on the night. His immediate feeling was of coolness and width an " spaciousness, in contrast with the hot grinding hostility, that had bored so closely in on him, for the last hour. He felt the benignness of the darkened heavens. A tag of some forgotten poem he had read came back to his [284] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE mind, and, "Come kindly night and cover me," he muttered, with shaking lips; and felt how true it was. My God, what a relief to be free of his father's eyes! They had held him till his mother's voiee broke the spell. 1 hey seemed to burn him now. What a fool he had been to face his father when emp y both of food and drink. Every man was down- hearted when he was empty. If his mother had had time to get the tea, it would have been difrerent,-but the fire had been out when he went in. " He wouldn't have downed me so easy, it I had had anything in me," he muttered, and his anger grew, as he thought of all he had been made to suffer. For ho was still the swag- gerer. Now that the incubus of his father's tyranny ZTf" T"f "" ^'"^ •^"''^^y' " ^^'^^ hafe rose vith. : h.m for the tyrant. He would go back and have It out when he was primed. "It's the only hame I have, he sobbed angrily to the darkness; " I have no other place to gang till! Yes, I'll go back and have it out wita him when once I get something in me, so I bn ll. / Tw"" "^''"' *° '"""^ ^"^6" ^rom the botle, for that encounter with his father, for nobody could stand up to black Oourlay; nobody. Young Gou,-- lay was yielding to a peculiar fatalism of minds diseased: all that affects them seems different from all that affects evenrbody else; they are even proud of their separate m TT" "T--^ ^"""^ '^""'■'"y ""* thought but felt It-he was different from everybody else. The heavens had cursed nobody else with such a terrible sire It was no cowardice to fill yourself with drink before you faced him. A drunkard will howl you an obscene chorus the mo- [285] IV I THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS ment after he hag wept about his dead child. For a mind in the delirium of drink is no longer a coherent whole, but a heap of shattered bits, which it showg one after the other to the world. Hence the many transfor- mations of that semi-madness, and their quick varie*v. Young Gourlay was shewing them now. His had always been a wandering mind, deficient in application and con- trol, and as he neared his final collapse, it became more and more variable, the prey of each momentary thought. In a short five minutes of time, he had been alive to the beauty of the darkness, cowering before the memory of his father's eyes, sobbing in self-pity and angry resolve, shaking in terror— indeed he was shaking now. Bat his vanity came uppermost. As he neared the Hed Lion, he stopped suddenly, and the darkness seemed on fire against his cheeks. He would have to face curio's eyes, he reflected. It was from the Red Lion he and Aird had started so grandly in the autumn. It would never do to come slinking back like a whipped cur; he must carry it off bravely in case the usual busybodies should be gathered round the bar. So with his coat flapping lordly on either side of him, his hands deep in his trouser-pockets, and his hat on the back of his head, he drove at the swing-doors with an outshot cliest, and entc.ed with a " breenge." But for all his swagger he must have had a face like death, for there was a cry among the idlers. A man breathed, " My God ! WTiat's the matter? " With shaking knees Gourlay advanced to the bar, and, « For God's sake, Aggie," he whispered, "give me a Kinblythmont! " It went at a gulp. " Another! " he gasped, like a man dying of thirst, [386] CHAPTER TWfiNTY-FIVE whom his fir^t sip maddens for «ore. •' Anoih.rl A„- w|n%^lSaXetrr ''' ^"-^ ^'^-^' whom you pretend fotTfh . ""^^P^-^'ed Wend, and i/r^^^^^^^^ o, so surprised he todd;d\ta^;'';^,^^:'.'f ^^°''"''' ^^-'^ Dvohn"'hBrj ■ * outstretched hand. "Man S news aShf '"' "^ 'I *■! '=°"''' '-■•- '"'«-« he "Oh 7' , A"''^''''a'-«yetumminon?" warm him wniskey had begun to They drank together. "Aggie, fill me a mutchkin when you're at if" ,.!a Gourlay to the pretty barmaid with th'e curly ha 'r He had spent many an hour with her last summer „ tf [ 287 j THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS bar. The four big whiskies he had swallowed in the last half hour, were singing in him now, and he blinked at her drunkenly. There was a scarlet ribbon on her dark curls, coquet- tish, vivid, and Gourlay stared at it dreamily, partly in a drunken daze, and partly because a striking colour always brought a musing and self-forgetting look within his eyes. All his life he used to stare at things dreamily, and come to himself with a start when spoken to. He forgot himself now. " Aggie," he said, and put his hand out to hers clum- sily where it rested on the counter; " Aggie, that rib- bon's infernal bonny on your dark hair! " Sht tossed her head, and perked away from him on her little high heels. Him, indeed!— the drunkard! She wanted none of his compliments! There were half a dozen in the place by this time, and they all stared with greedy eyes. " That's young Gour- lay— him that was expelled," was heard, the last an em- phatic whisper, with round eyes of awe at the offence that must have merited such punishment. " Expelled, mind ye! "—with a round shake of the head. " Watch AUardyce. We'll see fun." " What's this ' expelled ' is, now? " said John Toodle, with a very considering look and tone in his uplifted face—" properly speaking, that is," he added— implying that of course he knew the word in its ordinary sense, but was not sure of it " properly speaking." " Flung oot," saia Drucken Wabster, speaking from the fulness of his own experience. "Whisht!" said a third. "Here's Tam Brodie. Watch what he does." [388] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE The entrance of Brodie spoiled sport for the Deacon. He had nothing of that malicious fineiee that made Al- lardyce a genius at flicking men on the raw. He went straight to his work, stabbing like an awl. " Hal-lol " he cried, pausing with contempt in the middle of the word, when he saw young Oourlay. " Hal- lol You here! — Brig o' the Mains, Miss, if you please. — Aye man! God, you've been making a name up in Em- bro. I hear you stood up till him gey wcel " — and he winked openly to those around. Young Gourlay's maddened nature broke at the in- sult. " Pamn you," he screamed, " leave me alone, will you? I have done nothing to you, have I? " Brodie stared at liini across his suspended whiskey- glass, an easy and assured contempt curling his lip. " Don't greet owre't, my bairn," said he— and even as he spoke John's glass shivered on his grinning teeth. Brodie leapt on him, lifted him, and sent him flying. " That's a game of your father's, you damned dog," he roared. "But there's mair than him can play the game! " " Canny, my frecndth, canny! " piped AUardyce, wh j was vexed at a fine chance for his peculiar craft, being spoiled by mere brutality of handling. All this was most inartistic. Brodie never had the fine stroke. Gourlay picked himself bleeding from the floor, and holding a handkerchief to his mouth, plunged headlong from the room. He heard the derisive roar that came after him, stop — strangled by the sharp swing-to of the door. But it seemed to echo in his burning ears as he strode madly on through the darkness. He uncorked his mutchkin and drank it like water. His swollen lip [ 289 ] r ii ' THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS J.m«rted at flrrt, but he drank till it wa. a mere dead lump to hi. tongue, and he could not feel the whiskey on the wound. His mind at first was a burning whirl through drink and rage; with nothing determined and nothing def- inite. But thought began to shape itself. In a vast vague circle of consciousness his mind seemed to sit in the centre and think with preternatural clearness. Though all around was whirling and confused, drink had endowed some inner eye of the brain with unnatural swift vividness. Far within the humming circle of his mind he saw an instant and torriblc revenge on Brodie. acted It and lived it now. His desires were murderers and he let them slip, gloating in the cruelties that hot fancy wreaked upon his enemy. Then he suddenly re- membered his father. A rush of fiery blood seemed to drench all his body, as he thought of what had passtd between them. "But, by Heaven," he swore, as he threw away his empty bottle, " he won't use me like that another time; I have blood in me now." His maddened fancy began building a new scene, with the same actors, the same conditions, as the other, but an issue gloriously diverse. With vicious delight he heard his father use the same sneers, the same gibes, the same brutalities— then he turned suddenly and had him under foot, kicking bludgeoning, stamping the life out. He would do it, by Heaven, he would do it! The memory of what had hap- pened came fierily back, and made the pressing dark- ness bum. His wrath was brimming on the edge, ready to burst, and he felt proudly that it would no longer ebb in fear. Whiskey had killed fear, and left a hysterical madman, all the more dangerous because he was so [390] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE we^. I^t hi. father tor it onnowl Hew««.dy/o, And hi. father wa. ready for him; for he knew what had happenc.1 at the inn. Mr.. Web,ter, on her Ihtly hunt for the man .he had .worn to honour and !bev je. iiirsty. l.e ene<l, eager to prevent her tongue I know r„, „ blaKyird-but. oh the terrible thir""fhat' tale that he was allowed to go chueklinir 1«,.W . k potation, while .he ran hotLtt'tlrotn lit too, and eh, that brute, Tarn Brodie.'-" Ue„ J^ « rl J T'^' *"•' ^"""'^ i* ""t of her. hamme h'r"' C"-'" ^^"'^''■''' "*° '«' brodie diviH^r f ■ " moment, it is true, his anger was dmded, stood m equipoise, even dipped ' Brodie ward ' " \ZTrr' *? """'^ "' *'■'»•' " h« thoughTgrlmly I; 'I ' i THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS cuae back, be he drunk or be he lober; he would strip the fleih off him. '^ "Jenny," he mid, "bring me the itep-ladder." He would paM the time till tho prodigal came back— and he was almost certain to come back, for where could he go in Barbie?— he would pass tht time, by trying to improve tho appearance of the House. He had spent money on his house till the la«t, and even now, had the instinct to embellish it. Not that it mattered to him now, still he could carry out a small improvement he had planned before. The kitchen was ceiled in dark timber end on the rich brown rafters there were wooden pegs' and bars, for the hanging of Gourlay's sticks and fishing rods. His gun was up there, too, just above the hearth. It had occurred to him about a month ago, however, that a pair of curving steel rests, that would catch the glint front the fire, would look better beneath his gun than the dull pegs, where it now lay against a joist. He might as well pass the time by putting them up. The bringing of the steps, light though they were, was too much for Janet's weak frame, and she stopped in a fit of coughing, clutching the ladder for support, while it shook to her spasms. "Tuts, Jenny, this'U never do," said Gourlay, not un- kindly. He took the ladder away from her and laid his hand on her shoulder. « Away to your bed, lass! You maunna sit so late." But Janet w« anxious for her brother, and wanted to sit up till he came home. Sk - answored, " Yes " to her father^ but idled discreetly, to consume the time ^^ Where's my hammer?" snarled Gourlay. " Is it no by th^ dock? " said his wife wearily. « Oh [ 292 ] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE I remember, I rememberl I gicd it to Jfrn. Webster to break .omo brie-stone, to rub tbe front d.mr-st,.,, wi'. It 11 bo lying iu the porch!" " Oh, aye, as usual," said (Jourlay; " as usual! " " John! " she cried in alarm, " you don't mean to take down the gun, do ye? " " Huts, you auld fulc, what arc you skirling for' D ye think I mean to shoot the .!..r? Sut back on your cri(cpic, and make less noise, will ye? " Ere he had driven a nail in the rafter John came in, and sat down by the fire, taking up the great poker, as If to cover his nervousness. If Oourlay had been on the floor hd would have grappled with him there and then. But the temptation to gloat over his victim from his present height was irresistible. He went up another step, and sat down on the very summit of the ladder, his feet resting on one of the lower rounds The hammer he had been using was lying on his thigh, his hand clutehed about its haft. " Aye man, you've been takinf: a oit walk, I hear! " John made no reply, but plny;-d with the poker. It was so huge, owing to Oourlay's whim, that when it slid through his fingers, it came down on the muffled hearthstone with a thud like a paviour's hammer. " I'm told you saw the Deacon on your rounds? Did he compliment you on your return?" At the quiet sneer a lightning-flash shewed Joiin that Allardyce had quizzed him, too. For n moment he was conscious of a vast self-pity. " Damn them, they re all down on me," he thought. Then a vindic- tive rage against them all took hold of him, tense, quiv- ering. [293] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " Did you see Thomas Brodie when you were out? " came the suave enquiry. "I saw him," said John, raising fierce eyes to his father's. He was proud of the sudden firmness in his voice. There was no fear in it, no quivering. He was beyond caring what happened to the world or him. " Oh, you saw him," roared Gourlay, as his anger leapt to meet the anger of his son. " And what did he say to you, may I spier? ... Or may be I should spier what he did ... Eh? " he grinned. " By God, I'll kill ye," screamed John, springing to his feet, with the poker in his hand. The hammer went whizzing past his ear. Mrs. Gourlay screamed and tried to rise from her chair, her eyes goggling in terror. As Gourlay leapt, John brought the huge poker with a crash on the descending brow. The fiercest joy of his life was the dirl that went up his arm, as the steel thrilled to its own hard impact on the bone. Gourlay thudded on the fender, his brow crashing on the rim. At the blow there had been a cry as of animals, from the two women. There followed an eternity of silence, it seemed, and a haze about the place, yet not a haze, for everything was intensely clear, only it belonged to another world. One terrible fact had changed the Uni- verse. The air was different now; it was full of murder. Everything in the room had a new significance, a sinister meaning. The effect was that of an unholy spell. As through a dream Mrs. Gourlay's voice was heard crying on her God. John stood there, suddenly weak in his limbs, and stared, as if petrified, at the red poker in his hand. A little wisp of grizzled hair stuck to the square of it, [294] CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE severed, as by scissors, between the sharp edge and the bone. It was the sight of that bit of hair that roused him from his stupor — it seemed so monstrous and hor- rible, sticking all by itself to the poker. " I didna strike him so hard," he pleaded, staring vaguely, "I didna strike him so hard." Now that the frenzy had left him, he failed to realise the force of his own blow. Then with a horrid fear on him, " Get up, faither," he entreated, " get up, faither; oh man, you micht get up! " Janet, who had bent above the fallen man, raised an ashen face to her brother, and whispered hoarsely, " Hi-t heart has stopped, John; you have killed him! " Steps were heard coming through the scullery. In the fear of discovery Mrs. Gourlay shook off the apathy that held her paralysed. She sprang up, snatched the poker from her son, and thrust it in the embers. " Run, John; run for the doctor," she screamed. — " Oh, Mrs. Webster, Mrs. Webster, I'm glad to see ye. Mr. Gourlay fell from the top o' the ladder, and smashed his brow on the muckle fender." [295; XXVI "Mother!" came the startled whisper, "Mother! Oh, woman, wa);<?n and speak to me! " No comforting answer came from the darkness to tell of a human heing close at hand: the girl, intently listen- ing, was alone with her fear. All was silent in the room and the terror deepened. Then the far-o£E sound in the house was heard once more. " Mother— mother, what's that? " " What is it, Janet? " came a feebly complaining voice, " what's wrong wi' ye, lassie? " Janet and her mother were sleeping in the big bed- room, Janet in the place that had been her father's. He had been buried through the day, the second day after his murder. Mrs. Gourlay had shown a feverish anxiety to get the corpse out the house as soon as possible. And there had been nothing to prevent it. " Oh," said Doc- tor Dandy to the gossips, " it would have killed any man to fall from such a height on to the sharp edge of yon fender. — No; he was not quite dead when I got to him. He opened his eyes on me, once — a terrible look — and then life went out of him with a great quiver." Ere Janet could answer her mother, she was seized with a racking cough, and her hoarse bark sounded hol- low in the silence. At last she sat up and gasped fear- fully, " I thoeht — I thocht I heard something moving! " " It would be the wind," plained her mother; " it r C'96 ] CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX would just be the wind. John's asleep this strucken hour and mair. I sat by his bed for a lang while, and he prigged and prayed for a dose o' the whiskey ere he won away. He wouldna let go my hand till he slept, puir fallow. There's an unco fear on him— an unco fear. But try and fa' owre," she soothed her daughter. " That would just be the wind ye heard." " There's nae wind! " said Janet. Tlie stair croaked. The two women clung to each other, gripping tight fingers, and their hearts throbbed like big separate beings in their breasts. There was a rustle, as of something coming, then the door opened, and John flitted to the bedside with a candle in his hand. Above his night shirt his bloodless face looked gray. "Mother!" he panted, "there's something in mv room! " * ' " What is it, John? " said his mother in surprise and fear. " I— I thocht it was himsell ! Oh, mother, I'm feared I'm feared! Oh, mother, I'm /eare<i/» He sang the' words in a hysterical chant, his voice rising at the end The door of the bedroom clicked. It was not a slamming sound, only the door went to gently, as if someone closed it. John dropped the candle from his shaking hand, and was left standing in the living dark- ness. "Save me!" he screamed, and leaped into the bed, burrowing down between the women till his head was covered by the bed clothes. He trembled so violently that the bed shook beneath them. "Let me bide wi' ye! " he pleaded with chattering [ 297 ] THE HOUSE WITH THE GKEEN SHUTTERS jaws. " Oh, let me bide wi' ye! I dauma gang back to that room by mysell again." His mother put her thin arm round him. " Yes dear," she said; " you may bide wi' us. Janet and me wouldcd let anything harm you." She placed her hand on his brow caressingly. His hair was damp with a cold sweat. Ke reeked of alcohol. Someone went through the Square playing a con- certina. That sound of the careless world came strangely in upon thoir lonely tragedy. By contrast, liie cheerful silly noise, out there, seemed to intensify tlioir darkness and isolaltion here. Occasional far-off shouts were heard from roysterers going home. Mrs. Gourlay lay staring at the darkness with intent eyes. What horror might assail her she did not know, but she was ready to meet it for the sake of John. " Ye brought it on yourscll," she breathed once, as if defying an unseen accuser. It was hours ere he slept, but at last a heavy sough told her he had found oblivion. " He's won owre," she murmured thankfully. At times he muttered in his sleep. And, at times, Janet coughed hoarsely at his ear. " Jnet, dinna hoast sae loud, woman! You'll waken your brother." Janet was silent. Then she choked— trying to stifle another cough. " Woman! " said her mother complainingly, " that's surely an unco hoast ye hae! " " Aye," said Janet, " it's a gey hoast." Next morning Postie came clattering through the paved yard in his tacketty boots, and handed in a blue envelope at the back door with a business-like air, his [298] CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX ferretty eyes searching Mrs Gourlav'. f»„„ u . "Janet! " she cried " wZ t . 7 PU^^'ement, an.I. Sh« »t. 1 / ' "** """ ^ *» do wi' this 9 " many years since he had allowed hpr f Tt' ™ "Sir, " Glasgow, "March 18th 18— " Yours faithfully, " Brodie, Gurnoy & Yarrowby." I 299 ] ^ THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTEKS Mrs. Gourlay sank into a chair, and the letter slipped from her upturned palm, lying slack upon her knee. "Janet," she said appealingly; " what's this that has come on us? Does the house v.e live in, the House with the Green Shutters, not belong to us ainy more? TeU me, lassie. What does it mean? " " I don't ken," whispered Janet with big eyes. Did faither never tell yc- of the bond? " "He never telled me about anything," cried Mrs. Gourlay with a sudden passion. " I was aye the one to be keepit in the dark-to be keepit in the dark and sore hadden doon. Oh! are we left destitute, Janet-and us was aye sae muckle thocht o'! And me, too, that s come of decent folk, and brought him a gey pickle baw- bees! Am I to be on the parish in my auld age?— Oh, my faither, my faither! " , „ ^ j Her mind flashed back to the jocose and well-to-do father who had been but a blurred thought to her for twenty years. That his daughter should come to a pass like this was enough to make him turn in his grave. Janet was astonished by her sudden passion m feeble- ness. Even the murder of her husband had been met by her weak mind with a dazed resignation. For her natural horror at the deed was swallowed by her anxiety to shield the murderer; and she experienced a vague re- lief—felt, but not considered— at being freed from the incubus of Gourlay's tyranny It seemed, too, as if she was incapable of feeling anything poignantly, deadened now by these quick calamities. But that she, that Ten- shiUingland's daughter, should come to be an object of common charity, touched some hidden nerve of pnde, and made her writhe in agony. [300] CHAPTER T 7ENTY-SIX " It mayna be ;e bad," Janet tried to comfort her. " Waken John," said her mother feverishly, " waken John and we'll gang through his faither's dask. There may be something gude amang his papers. There may be something gudel " she gabbled nervously; " yes, there may be something gudel In the dask; in the dask; there may be something gude in the dask! " John staggered into the kitchen five minutes later. Half way to the table where his mother sat, he reeled and fell over on a chair, where he lay with an ashen face, his eyes mere slits in his head, the upturned whites shew- ing through. They brought him whiskey, and he drank and was recovered. And then they went through to the parlour, and opened the great desk that stood in the comer. It was the first time they had ever dared to raise its lid. John took up a letter lying loosely on the top of the other papers, and, after a hasty glance, " This settles it! " said he. It was the note from Gourlay's banker, warning him that his account was overdrawn. " God help us! " cried Mrs. Gourlay, and Janet began to whimper. John slipped out of the room. He was still in his stocking-feet, and the women, dazed by this sudden and appalling news, were scarcely aware of his departure. He passed through the kitchen, and stood on the step of the back door, looking out on the quiet little paved yard. Everything there was remarkably still and bright. It wag an early spring that year, and the hot March sun beat down on him, paining his bleared and puffy eyes. The contrast between his own lump of a body, drink- dazed, dull-throbbing, and the warm bright day, came in on him with a sudden sinking of the heart, a sense [301] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS of degradation and personal abasement. He realised, however obscurely, that he was an eyesore in nature, a blotch on the surface of the world, an offence to the sweet-breathing heavens. And that bright silence was so strange and still. He could have screamed to es- cape it. The slow ticking of the kitchen clock seemed to beat upon his raw brau. Damn the thing, why didn't it stop —with its monotonous tick-tack; tick-tack; tick-tack? —he could feel it inside his head where it seemed to strike innumerable little blows, on a strained chord it was bent on snapping. He tiptoed back to the kitchen on noiseless feet, and cocking his ear to listen, he heard the murmur of women's voices in the parlour. There was a look of slyness and cunning in his face; auJ his eyes glittered with desire. The whiskey was still on the table. He seized the bottle greedily, and, tilting it up, let the raw liquid gurgle into him like cooling water. It seemed to flood his parched being with a new vitality. "Oh, I doubt we'll be gey ill-off! " he heprd his mother's whine, and, at that reminder of her nearness, he cheeked the great satisfied breath he had begun to blow. He set the bottle on the table, bringing the glass noiselessly down upon the wood, with a tense, unnatural precision possible only to drink-steadied nerves— a steadiness like the humming top's whirled to its fastest. Then he sped silently through the courtyard and locked himself into the stable, chuckling in drunken triumph as he turned the key. He pitched forward on a litter of dirty straw, and in a moment, sleep came over his mind in a huge wave of darkness. [308] CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX An hour later he woke from a terrible dream, flinging hig arms up, to ward off a face that had been pressing on his own. Were the eyes that had burned his brain still glaring above him? He looked about him in drunken wonder. From a sky-window a shaft of golden light came slanting into the loose-box, living with yellow motes in the dimness. The world seemed dead; he was alone in the silent building, and from without there was no sound. Then a panic terror flashea «^ his mind, that those eyes had actually been here— and were here with him still— whc-e he was locked up with them alone. He strained his eyeballs in a horrified stare at vacancy. Then he shut them in terror, for why did ho look? If he looked, the eyes might bum on him out of nothmgness. The innocent air had become his enemy —pregnant with unseen terrors to glare at him. To breathe it stifled him; each draught of it was full of menace. With a siirill cry he dashed at the door, and felt in the clutch o.' his ghostly enemy when he failed to open It at once, breaking his nails on the baffling lock. He mowed and chattered and stamped, and tore at the lock, f rostrate in fear. At last he was free! He broke mto the kitchen where his mother sat weeping- she raised her eyes to see a dishevelled thing, with bits of straw scattered on his clothes and hair. "Mother!" he screamed, "Mother!" and stopped suddenly, his starting eyes seeming to follow somethine in the loom. " What are ye glowering at, John? " she wailed. " Thae damned e'en," he said slowly, « they're burn- ing my soul! Look, look! " he cried, clutching her thin wrist, " see, there, there!— coming round by the dresser! [303] I THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS A-ah! " ho scroamod in hoarae execration. " Would yc, then? "—and he hurled a great jug from the table at the piinuing uniieen. The jug struck the yellow face of the clock, and the glass jangled on the floor. Mrs. Gourlay raised her nrms, like a gaunt sibyl, and spoke to her Maker, quietly, as if He were a man be- fore her in the room. " Ruin and murder," she said slowly; " and madness; and death at my nipple like a childl When will Ye be satisfied? " Drucken Wabster's wife spread the news, of course, and that night it went humming through the town that young Gourlay had the horrors, and was throwing tum- blers at his mother! " Puir body! " said the baker, in the long-drawn tones of an infinite compassion; "puir body! " " Aye," said Toddle drily, " he'll be wanting to put an end to her next, after killing his faither." " Killing his faither? " said the baker with a quick look, "what do you mean? " "Mean? Ou, I just mean what the doctor says! Gourlay was that mad at the drucken young swine that he got the 'plenties, fell afl the ladder, and felled himsell deid! That's what I mean, no less! " said Toddle, net- tled at the sharp question. " Aye man! That accounts for't," said Tam Wylie. " It did seem queer Gourlay's dying the verra nicht the prodigal cam hame. He was a heayy man, too; he would come down with an infernal thud. It seems uncanny, though, it seems uncanny." " Strange! " murmured another, and they looked at each other in silent wonder. [304] CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX « 1^"' r"l ""' '"' '""'' *'""■' y? " "iJ Brodie. About llie horrore, I mean. Did he throw the tumUer •t hig mother? " .u'V^"^' "'* '™''' " "'^ "^""^y Toddle. " I gaed into the kitchen, on purpose, to make sure o' the matter with my own eyes. 1 let on I wanted to borrow auld Gour- ay 8 key-holo saw-I can tell ye he had a' his orders- Ins tool-chcst's the finest I ever saw in my life! I mean to bid for some o' yon when the rowp comes. Wecl as I was saying, I let on I wanted the woe saw, and went into the kitchen one end's errand. The tumbler (Johnny Coe says it was a bottle, however; but I'm no avised o' that— I spiercd Webster's wife, and I think my details are correct)- the tumbler went flying past his mother, and smashed the face o' the eight-day It happened about the mid-hour o' the day. The clock had stoppit, I observed, at three and a half minutes to the twelve." " Hi! " cried the Deacon, " it'th ii pity auld aourlav wathna alive thith day! " "Faith, aye," cried Wylic. "He would have sorted him! He would have trimmed the young ruffian! " "No doubt," said th.- Deacon gravely; "no doubt. But it wath scarcely that I wath thinking of. Yah! " he grinned, " thith would have been a thlap in the face till him! " Wylie looked at him for awhile \.ith a white scunner in his face. He wore the musing and disgusted look of a man whose wounded mind retires within itself, to brood over a sight of unnatural cruelty. The Deacon grew uncomfortable beneath his sideward, estimating [305] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " Deacon Allardyce, your heart's black-rotten," he ■aid at la«t. The Deacon blinked and wai lilent. Tarn had aummed him up. There wait no appeiJ. " John, dear," aaid his mother that evening, " we'll take the big sofa into our bedroom, and make up a grand bed for ye, and then we'll be company to one another. Eh, dear? " she pleaded. " Winna that bo a fine way? When you have Janet and me beside you, you winna be feared o' ainything coming near you. You should gang to bed early, dear. A sleep would restore your mind." " I don't mean to go to bed," he said slowly. Ho spoke staringly, with the same fixity in his voice and gaze. Thet i was neither rise nor fall in his voice, only a dull level of intensity. " You don't mean to go to bed, John! What for, dear? Man, a sleep would calm your mind for ye." " Na-a-a! " he smiled, and shook his head like a cun- ning madman, who had detected her trying to get round him. " Na-a-a! No sleep for me — no sleep for me! I'm feare<l I would see the re'' e'en," he whispered, " the red e'en; coming at me out o the darkness — the darkness! " he nodded, staring at her and breathing the word, " the darkness! the darkness! The darkness is the warst, mother," he added in his natural voice, leaning forward as if he explained some simple curious thing of every day. " The darkness is the warst, you know. I've seen them in the broad licht, but in the lobby," he whis- pered hoarsely; " in the lobby when it was dark; in the lobby they were terrible. Just twa e'en, and they aye [306] CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX keep thegithcr, though tlieyVt. «y„ moving. That', whv I cwn. p.n them. And if. boc.u«, 1 ken they'A.ve TtZ "'?i "'!'">»« »'«. -etching me. fil S hom)r and he .tared a. if he saw them now. « '^ '° He had boasted long ago of being able to «.f thin™ jn..de h.. head; in hi. drunken hyfteria he wa^ to Je them alway.. The vision he beheld against the darkn^s, of hi. mind, projected itself, and glared at hin.. He w^ pursued by a spectre in his own brain, and for tl^ " Oh man. John." wailed his mother. " what .. ve ;r iiX;'!"' ''''"''' «'- '-' H« -'ina Pers^ thrS? '"' ?°J ," '"' r'"^ "'"'^'y- " You ken yoursell could ccl the passion in him when he stood still. Ho could throw himsel at yo without moving. And he's throwing himsel at me frae beyond the grave " Mrs. Gourlay beat hor desperate hands. Her feeble t~v oTthT'' " "7""'" "" " "'"• *" *•■« dun in! tensity of this conviction. So colossal was it that it St^'Jim tot;;." ''''' "' ""'' '"'"' ""' -'* p'-" e'en;^^tv"l'' fr*?''? '''P* P^^'ionately, "there's no "It „V"'* *''^ ''""'' ««" yo" think sae." No he said dully; " the drink's my re/uge. It's a kmd thing, drink. It helps a body » ' ^e. it s a [307] THE HOUSE WITH THE GRjiEN SHUTTERS " But, John, nobody believes in these things now-a- days. It's just fancy in you. 1 wonder at a college- bred man like you giving heed to a wheen non- sense! " " Ye ken yoursell it was a by-word in the place that he would haunt the House with the Green Shutters." " God help me! " cried Mrs. Gourlay; " what am I to do?" She piled up a great fire in the parlour, and the three poor creatures gathered round it for the night. (They were afraid to sit in the kitchen of an evening, for even the silent furniture seemed to talk of the murder it had witnessed.) John was on a carpet stool by his mother's feet, his head resting on her knee. They heard the rattle of Wilson's brake as it swung over the town-head from A uchterwheeze, and the laugh- ter of its jovial crew. They heard the town clock chim- ing the lonesome passage of the hours. A dog was bark- ing in the street. Gradually all other sounds died away. " Mother," said John, " lay your hand alang my shouther, touching my neck. I want to be sure that you're near me." " I'll do that, my bairn," said his mother. And soon he was asleep. Janet was reading a novel. The children had their mother's silly gift, a gift of the weak-minded, of for- getting their own duties and their own sorrows, in a vacant interest which they found in books. She had wrapped a piece of coarse red flannel round her head to comfort a swollen jaw, and her face appeared from within like a tallowy oval. [308] CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX vaeaj.tl; , staruig .t the fire open-mouthed, her mutch s mgs dangung. It was the remark of a s ricke'mld that speaks vacantly of anything. " Does Herbert Mont gomery marry Sir James's niece' " *" " No," said Janet, " he's killed at the war. It's a eev pity of him, isn't it?-Oh, what's that' " ^ ^ It was John talking in his sleep. I have killed my faither," he said slowly, pausing long between every phrase: "I have killed myS"? • ■ • 1^7 killed my faither. And he's foll-owing me • . . hes foll-owmg me . . . he's foU-owing me " It was he voice of a thing, not a man. It sweUed and dwelt on the "follow," as if the horror of the p« oime"""^-.':?;: '""-^^-^ - ■ • ■ ••«'" owing me . . he's foll-owmg me. A face like a dark IhTl If ^ '^"- °''' *''''^'- ^o"-ing te m;-" His V .^""-"^""^ -""••• they're foil-owing me. His vo.ee seemed to come from an inlinite dis nig'huamffZi:;^!;"*^^^*^^^*- ^^-^^^^'^ room " '"^'"'^'^ ^'* then' in the Mrs. Gourlay drew back from John's head on bp. lap as from something monstrous and unholy Bi! he moaned in deprivation, craving her support, Indl [309] I THE HOUSE "WITH THE GBEEN SHUTTERS edged nearer to supply his need. Possessed with a devil or no, he was her son. " Mother! " gasped Janet suddenly, the white circles of her eyes staring from the red flannel, her i/oice hoarse with a new fear, " Mother, suppose — suppose he said that before anybody else! " " Don't mention't," cried her mother with sudden pas- sion; " how daur ye, how daur ye? My God! " she broke down and wept, " they would hang him, so they would; they would hang my boy; they would take and hang my boy! " They stared at each other wildly. John slept, his head twisted over on hie mother's knee, his eyes sunken, his mouth wide open. " Mother," Janet whispered, " you must send him away." " I have only thrcrt pounds in the world," said Mrs. Gourlay — and she put her hand to her breast where it was, but winced as if a pain had bitten her. " Send him away wi't," said Janet. " The furniture may bring something. And you and me can aye thole." In the morning Mrs. Gourlay brought two greasy notes to the table, and placed them in her son's slack hand. He was saner now; he had slept off his drunken madness through the night. " John," she said in pitiful appeal, " you maunna stay here, laddie. Ye'U gie up the drink when you're away — will ye na? — and then thae e'en ye're sae feared of '11 no trouble you ony mair. Gang to Glasgow and see the lawyer folk about the bond. And, John dear," she pleaded, " if there's nothing left for us, you'll try to work for Janet and me, will ye no ? You've a grand edu- [310] CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX cation, and you'll surely get a place as a teacher or some- thing; I'm sure you would make a grand teacher. Yo wouldna like to think of your mother trailing every week to the like of Wilson for an awmous, streeking out her auld hand for charity. The folk would stand in their doors to look at me, man— they would that— they would cry ben to each other to come oot and see Oourlay's wife gaun slinkin doon the brae. Doon the brae it would be," she repeated, " doon the brae it would be —and her mind drifted away on the sorrowful fu- ture which her fear made so vivid and real. It was only John 8 going that roused her. Thomas Brodie, glowering abroad from a shop door festooned in boots, his leather apron in front, and his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, as befitted an important man, saw young Gourlay pass the Cross with his bag in his hand, and dwindle up the road to the station. " Where's he off to now? " he muttered, " there's some- thing at the boddom o' this, if a body could find it out! " [311] XXVII strength, she had never be«„ so bin r' °^ ''*'• >- work .as aimle. and to „« p^o ^ ' W Wid ""'* den.. i„ the mt^roTS t^Z-.d S,S^^ ^^^ with the dish in her hnn,]. „ : . '°'° ^ ™"se wards to ask vl^^lfSha—^ "u'^rf '°^'S"^^T lassie, «'hat was it I was doin^"" w " ' ' '^"°**' frustration, had the same r afon tZ TV' ''"' ''' mind constantly impellcThertol ^"%^"'"''™ "^ ^^^ from it-and the same K,,rl ^"^^th-ng to escape eveiything she did So It ^""^""^ ^'' »'"<! ^ whims. IveJ moJninfsh ''°!*''''' '^ ^'' ^"""t to fish onlof Jly f ^""^ "' "" "n«arthly hour the odds 1" ends of'^SvT'T ''^'"'"' ^g with make a pateh-work o„ It hv m' «''«'"Wage. "I'll a foolish" ea'er "mile L^• ''"' "P^^'^^d ^'"th up rags and^vlinT; tX tt mTw^" ^"^^^'^'"^ luilt made no pro^e^%h° ?? ,*?• ^"* ^'^^ for a while witH!^ l^ / ""'^ ^°°^ "^ » P-teh CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN and stare across the room, open-mouthed; her fineers othtii*:^' '''''''' ''''-'■ ^-- ^~ s noS; tnathit '?5 *° '""''- ""^^ '"« '^'^-^^^ «,« u u "^""^"'"^ ner, an uncanny smile as nf one who hugged a secret to her breast-u se rit that eludmg others, would enable its holder to el^de them Gon I ™ ' , "'^ *'"'* ''^"'"«'' gathering round Mrs Gourlay s mind would be dispelled by sudden rushes o^ rLl'^efm^ ^"'It '''''''' '-' '- - beTat ^ as rarely. Her brain was mercifully dulled and her days were passed in a restless vacancy when'jZ ^"^ "'"^ *'" ™^^ '-"-^-J ^<"">d her There wer.'^ '" °° *^^ ^^«"'°^ °f t^e third day. amon., th. . ' ,^^ ""* '° *«'■• "''det like a witch hreftrate'tr 'TJ.^^'^ ^^« '"-"^^^ ^-a^^' door ' the smell of drink was wafted from the .olXowX?'^ '" "^^^^' "^'"'''- ^'^ y« -* bondt" *' ''°°i°J'''-?^d^ye"^:nCt the gofr^mLtltn"^' ""^ ^^ '''"''^ ^"^'-^ '^'^'i to limba ^ '"'"' '° '^^"'^ ^'^ *« '««! through her [313] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS " John," she said after a while, " did ye no try to get something to do, that you might help me and Janet now we're helpless? " " No," he said, " for the e'en wouldna let me. Nicht and day they follow me a'where; nicht and day." " Are they following ye yet, John? " she whispered, leaning forward seriously. She did not try to disabuse liim now; she accepted what he said. Her mind was on a level with liis own. " Are they following ye yet? " she asked with large eyes of sympathy and awe. " Aye, and waur than ever, too. They're getting red- der and redder. It's not a dull red," he said, with a faint return of his old interest in the curious physical; " it's a gleaming red. They lowe. A' last nicht they wouldna let me sleep. There was nae gas in my room, and when the candle went out I could see them every- where. When T looked to one comer o' the room, they were there; and when I looked to another comer, they were there, too; glowering at me; glowering at me in the darkness; glowering at me. Ye mind what a glower he had! I hid from them ablow the claes, but they fol- lowed me — thev were burning in my brain. So I gaed oot and stood by a lamp-post for company. But a con- stable moved me on; he said I was drunk because I mut- tered to mysell. Bnt I wasna dmnk then, mother; I wa-as not. So I walkit.on, and on, and on, the whole nicht — but I ave keepit to the lamp-posts for company. And than when the public houses opened, I gaed in nnd drank and drank. I didna like the drink, for whis- key has no taste to me now. But it helps ye to forget. "Mother?" he went on eomplainingly, "is it no queer that a pair of e'en should follow a man? Just a [314] CHAPTER TWENTr-SEVEM rair of e'en! It never happened to onybo,ly but me " he said dully; " never to onybody but me " His mother «as panting open-.nouthed, as if «!,„ "At" t 7- '"'', 'f''' *='""='""« "^ her bosom Aye she wh.spered, " it's queer," and kept on gasp- ing at mtervals with staring eyes, " it's gey queer itl gey queer; it's gey queer." ^ ' ' She took up the needle once more and tried to sew the left forefinger which upheld her work. She was content thereafter to make loose stab.s at the cloth, with a result that she n.ade great stitches which diw he eam together n a pucker. Vacantly she tried to smooth them out, stroking them over with her hand, constant y SK.ira:dC;^r"--^^ " There's just ac thing'll end it! " said John. « Moth- er, give me three shillings." It was not a request, and not a demand; it was the dull statement of a need. Yet the need appearelso re- en less, uttered in the set fi.xity of his infp'assive voice that she could not gainsay it. She felt that this was not merely her son making a demand; it was a compuls"on on him greater than himself. '-"mpuis.on theTabirl*HTT7'" '^' '"'''' '^""'^'"^ » -J"^" °" „nl fK V 1 f^^ " "■''""""' ^""^ «t him, close upon the brink of tears. She had a fleeting anger. It was scarcely at him though; It was at the fate that drove him. Nor was i for herself, for her own mood was, "Well well- let it [ 315 ] ' ' THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS gang." But she had a sense of unfairness, and a flicker of quite impersonal resentment, that fate should wring the last few shillings from a poor being. It wasna fair. Slie had the emotion of it; and it spoke in the strange look at her son, and in the smiling flush with the tears behind it. Then she sank into apathy. John took up the money and went out, heedless of his mother where she sat by the table— he had a doom on him and could see nothing, that did not lie within his path. Nor did she take any note of his going; she was callous. The tie between them was being annullwl by misery. She was ceasing to be his mother, he to be her son; they were not younger and older, they were the equal victims of necessity. Fate set each of them apart to dree a separate weird. In a house of long years of misery, the weak become callous to their dearest's agony. The hard strong char- acters are kindest in the end; they will help while their hearts are breaking. But the weak fall asunder at the last. It was not that Mrs. Gourlay was thinking of her- self, rather than of him. She was stunned by fate— as was he— and could think of nothing. Ten minutes later John came out of the Black Bull with a bottle of whiskey. It was a mellow evening, one of those evenings when Barbie, the mean and dull, is transfigured to a gem-like purity, and catches a radian'ie. There was a dreaming sky above the town, and its light less came to the earth than waG on it, shining in every path with a gracious immanence. John came on through the glow with his burden undisguised, wrapped in a tissue paper which shewed its outlines. He stared right before him like [316] CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN a man niilking in liis Bleep, and never once looked to either fide. At word of his coming the doors were filled with mutches and bald heads, kecking by the jambs to get J look. Many were indecent in their haste, not wait- ing till ho passed ere they peeped — which was their usual way. Some even stood away out in front of their doors to glower at him advancing, turning slowly with him as he passed, and glowering behind him as he went. They saw they might do so with impunity; that he did not see thom, but walked like a man in a dream. He passed up the street and through the Square, beneath a hundred eyes, the sun shining softly round him. Every eye followed till he disappeared through his own door. He went through the kitchen, where his mother sat, carrying the bottle openly, and entered the parlour without speaking. He eainc hack and a.skcd her for the corkscrew, but when she said "Eh?" with a vague wildness in her manner, and did not seem to understand, he went and got it for liimsclf. She continued making stabs a her cloth and smoothing out the puckers in her seam. John was heard moving in the parlour. There was the sharp plunl- of a cork being drawn, followed by a clink of glass. And then came a heavy thud like a fall. To Mrs. Gourlay the sounds meant nothing; she heard them with her ear, not her mind. The world around her had retreated to a hazy distance, so that it had no meaning. She would have gazed vaguely at a shell about to burst beside her. In the evening, Janet, who had been in bed all the afternoon, came down and lit the lamp for her mother. [317] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS It wu a largo lamp which Gourlay had bought, and it shed a rich light through the room. " I heard John come in," she said, turning wearily round; " but I was too ill to come down and ask what had happened. Where is he? " "John?" questioned her mother, "John? . . . Ou, aye! " she panted, vaguely recalling, " Ou, aye! I think —I think ... he gacd ben the parlour." " The parlour! " cried Janet, " but he must be in the dark! And he canna thole the darkness! " « " ''^^f! " ^^^ "^^' ^°'°S *° *''" parlour door. There was a silence of the grave. She lit a candle, and went into the room. And then she gave a squeal like a rabbit in a dog's jaws. Mrs. Gourlay dragged her gaunt limbs wearily across the floor. By the wavering light, which shook in Janet's hand, she saw her son lying dead across the sofa. The whiskey-bottle on the table was half empty, and of a smaller bottle beside it he had drunk a third. He had taken all that whiskey that he might deaden his mmd to the horror of swallowing the poison. His legs had slipped to the floor when he died, but his body was lying back across the couch, his mouth open, his eyes stanng horridly up. They were not the eyes of the quiet dead, but bulged in frozen fear, as if his father's eyes had watched him from aloft while he died. "There's twa thirds of the poison left," commented Mrs. Gourlay. " Mother! " Janet screamed, and shook her. " Moth- er, John's deid! John's deid. Don't ye see John's deid? " [318] CHAl'TEU TWENTY-SEVEN " Aye, hv'» dcid," saiil Mrs. Gourlay, staring. " He winna be hanged now! " " Motherl " cried Janet, desperate before this apathy, " what shall we do? What shall wo do? Shall I run and bring the neebours? " " The neebours! " said Mrs. Gourlay, rousing herself wildly. " The neebours I What have we to do with the neebours? We are by ourselves — the Gourlays whom God has cursed; wc can have no neebours. Come ben the house and I'll tell ye something," she whispered wildly. " Aye," she nodded, smiling with mad signifi- cance, " I'll tell ye something . . . I'll tell ye some- thing," and she dragged Janet to the kitchen. Janet's heart was rent for her brother, but the frenzy on her mother killed sorrow with a new fear. " Janet! " smiled Mrs. Gourlay, with insane soft in- terest, "Janet! D'ye mind yon nicht langsyne when your faither came in wi' a terrible look in his e'en, and struck me in the breist? Aye," she whispered hoarsely, staring at the fire, " he struck mc in the breist. But I didna ken what it was for, Janet . . . No," she shook her head, " he never telled me what it was for." " Aye, mother," whispered Janet, " I have mind o't." " Weel, an abscess o' some kind formed — I kenna weel what it was — but it gathered and broke, and gathered and broke, till my breist's near eaten awa wi't. Look! " she cried, tearing open her bosom, and Janet's head flimg back in horror and disgust. "Oh, mother!" she panted, "was it that that the wee clouts were for? " " Aye, it was that," said her mother. " Mony a clout I had to wash, and monv a nicht I sat lonely by mysell, [319] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN 8HUTTEBS plaiitering my withered breist. But I never let ony- body ken," she added with pride; " na-a-a; I never let onybody ken. When your faither nipped me wi' his tongue, it nipped me wi' ita pain, and, woman, it con- soled me. ' Aye, ayo,' I used to think; 'jibe awa, jibe awa; but I hae a freend in my breist that'll end it acme day.' I likit to keep it to myscll. When it bit me it seemed to wliisper 1 had a freend that nane o' them kenned o' — a freend that would deliver me! The mair he badgered me, the closer I hugged it; and when my he'rt was br'akin I enjoyed the pain o't." " Oh, my poor, poor mother! " cried Janet with a bursting sob, her eyes raining hot tears. Her very bodv seemed to feel compassion; it quivered and crept near, as though it would brood over her mother and protect her. She raised the poor hand and kissed it, and fondled it between her own. But her mother had forgotten the world in one of her wild lapses, and was staring fixedly. " I'll no lang be a burden to onybody," she said to herself. " It should sune be wearing to a heid now. But I thought of something the day John gaed away. Aye. I thought of something," she said vaguely. "Janet, what was it I was thinking of? " " I dinna ken," whispered Janet. " I was thinking of something! " her mother mused. Her voice all through was a far-off voice, remote from understanding. " Yes, I remember. Ye're young, Jen- ny, and you learned the dressmaking — do ye think ye could sew, or something, to keep a bit garret owre my heid till I dee? Aye, it was that I was thinking of — thoui^h it doesna matter much now. — Eh, Jenny? Ill [ 330 ] OHAI»TEU TWENTY-SEVEN no bother you for verm lang. But I'll no gang on the pariah," she raid in a panionle«g voice, " I'll no gang on the pariih.— I'tai Mias Richmond o' Tenahilling- land." She had no intcrcHt in her own sugf^eation. It was an idea that had flitted through her mind before, which canic back to her now in feeble recollection. She seemed not to wait for an answer, to have forgotten what ahe said. " Oh, mother," cried Janet, " there's a curse on UR all! I would work my fingers raw for ye if I could, but I canna," she screamed, " I canna, I canna! Sly lungs are bye wi't. On Tuesday in Skeighan the doctor telled me I would soon be' deid — he didnn say't, but fine I saw what he was hinting. TTc advised me to pang to Ventnor in the Isle o' Wight," she added wanly, " as if I could gang to the Isle o' Wight. I cam hamc trembling an^ wanted to tell ye, but when I cam in ye were ta'en up wi' John, and, ' Oh, lassie,' said you, ' dinna bother me wi' your complaints enow.' I wns hurt at that, ami ' Well, well,' I thocht, ' if she doesna want to hear, T'11 no tell her! ' I was huffed at ye. .\nd then mv faither came in, and ye ken what happened. I hadna the heart to speak o't after that; I didna seem to care. I ken what it is to nurse daith in my breist wi' pride, too, mother,'! ^^^ ''*°* '"'• "^* "^^«'" '^"^^ ^erra much for me, it was John was your favourite. I used to be angry because you neglected mv illness, and I never telled you how heavily I boasted blood. ' She'll be sorry for this when I'm deid,' I used to think— and I hoped you would be. I had a kind of pride in saying nothing. But, oh, mother, I didn.a ken you were just the same, I [321] ! THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS didna ken you were just the same." She looked. Her mother was not listening. Suddenly Mrs. Gourlay screamed with wild laughter, and, laughing, eyed with mirthless merriment, the look of horror with which Janet was regarding her. " Ha, ha, ha! " she screamed, " it's to be a clean sweep o' the Gourlays! Ha, ha, hal it's to be a clean sweep o' the Gourlay si " There is nothing uglier in life than a woman's cruel laugh, but Mrs. Gourlay's laugh was more than cruel, it was demoniac; the skirl of a human being carried by misery beyond the confines of humanity. Janet stared at her in speechless fear. "Mother," she whispered at last, "what are we to do?" " There's twa thirds of the poison left," said Mrs. Gourlay. " Mother! " cried Janet. " Gourlay's dochter may gang on the parish if she likes, but his wife never will. Ynu mav hoast vourself to death in a garret in the poorhouse, but 711 follow my bov." The sudden picture of her own lonely death as a pauper among strangers, when her mother and brother should be gone, was so appalling to Janet, that to die with her mother seemed pleasanfer. She could not hear to be left alone. "Mother," she cried in a frenzy, " 111 keep ye com- pany! " " Let us read a Chapter," said Mrs. Oouriav. She took down the big Bible, and " the thirteent' Chapter o' first Corinthians." she announced in a loud [332] CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Toice as if giving it out from the pulpit, " the thirteent' — the first Corinthians ": "'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as soundina brass, or a tinkling cymbal. .,'1 'f"f, '*""?* ■'""" "'* ^'^' of prophecy, and under- »tand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I Imve allfmth, so that I could rmove mountains, and nave not charity, lam nothing.'" Mrs. Gourlay's manner had changed; she was in the h.gh exaltation of madness. Callous she still appeared 80 possessed by her general doom that she had no more. Willing her death, she seemed to borrow its greatness and become one with the law that punished her. Arrogating the Almighty's function to expedite her doom, she was the equal of the Most High. It was her feebleness that made her great. Because in her feebleness she yielded entirely to the fate that swept her on,^ she was imbued with its demoniac power. " ' Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envielh not.- chanty vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. " ' Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her oum, ts not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; '' ' Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth ; "'Beareth all things, believeth all things, hqpeth cU things, endureth all things. " ' marity never faileth : but whether there be prophe- cies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall ee<^e; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. '"But when that which is perfect is come, then that which IS in part shall be done away.^ " [383] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS Her voice rose high tind shrill as she read the great verges. Her large blue eyes shone with ecstasy. Janet looked at her in fear. This was more than her mother speaking, it was more than human, it was a voice from beyond the world. Alone, the timid girl would have shrunk from death, but her mother's inspiration held her. *' ' And now abideth faith, hope, charity, thttt three : but the greatest of these is charity.'' " Janet had been listening with such strained atten- i ion that the " Ameh " rang out of her loud and invol- untary, like an answer to a compelling Deity. She had clung to this reading as the one thing left to her before death, and out of her nature thus strained to listen the " Amen " came, as sped by an inner will. She scarcely knew that she said it. They rose, and the scrunt of Janet's chair on the floor, when she pushed it behind her, sent a thrilling shiver through her body, so tense was her mood. They stood with their hands on their chair-backs, and looked at each other, in a curious palsy of the will. The first step to the parlour door would commit them to the deed; to take it was to take the poison, and they paused, feeling its significance. To move was to give themselves to the irrevocable. When they stirred at length they felt as if the ultimate crisis had been passed; there could be no return. Mrs. Gourlay had Janet by the wrist. She turned and looked at her daughter, and for one fleeting moment she ceased to be above humanity. " Janet," she said wistfully, " I have had a heap to thole! Maybe the Lord Jesus Christll no' be owre sair on me." [324] CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN " Oh, mother! " Janet screamed, yielding to her ter- ror when her mother weakened. "Oh, mother, I'm feared! I'm feared! Oh, mother, I'm feared! " " Come! " said her mother; " Come! " and drew her by the wrist. They went into the parlour. The post was a square-built, bandy-legged little man, with a bristle of grizzled hair about his twisted mouth,' perpetually cocking up an ill-bred face in the sight of Heaven. Physically and morally h- had in him some- thing both of the Scotch terrier and the London sparrow —the shagginess of the one, the cocked eye of the other, the one's snarling temper, the other's assured impu- dence. In Gourlay's day he had never got by the gate- way of the yard, much as he had wanted to come far- ther. Gouriay had an eye for a thing like him. "Damn the gurly brute!" Postie complained once; "when I passed a pleasand remark about the weather the other morning, he just looked at me and blew the reek of his pipe in my face. And that was his only answer! " Now that Gouriay was gone, however, Postie clattered through the yard every morning, right up to the back door. " A heap o' correspondence thir raomins! " he would simper— his greedy little eye trying to glean revelations from the women's faces, as they took the letters from his hand. On the morning after young Oourlay came home for the last time, Postie was pelting along with his quick thudding step near the head of the Square, when whom should he meet but Sandy Toddle, still unwashed and yawning from his bed. It was early and the streets [325] THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS were empty, except where in the distance the bent figure of an old man was seen hirpling off to his work, first twisting round stiffly to cock his eye right and left at the sky, to forecast the weather for the day. From the chimneys the fair white spirlies of reek were rising in the pure air. The Gourlays did not seem to be stirring yet; there was no smoke above their rooftree to show that there was life within. Postie jerked his thumb across his shoulder at the House with the Green Shutters. " There'll be chyiges there the day," he said, chir- ruping. " Wha-at! " Toddle breathed in a hoarse whisper of astonishment, " sequesteration? " and he stared, big- eyed, with his brows arched. " Something o' that kind," said the post carelessly. " I'm no' weel acquaint wi' the law-wers' lingo." " Will't be true, think ye? " said Sandy. " God, it's true," said the post. " I had it frae Jock Hutchison, the clerk in Skeighan Goudie's. He got fou yestreen on the road to Barbie and blabbed it— he'll lose his job, yon chflp, if he doesna keep his mouth shut. —True, aye! It's true! There's damn the doubt o' that." Toddle corrugated his mouth to whistle. He turned and stared at the House with the Green Shutters, gawcey and substantial on its terrace, beneath the tremulous beauty of the dawn. There was a glorious sunrise. " God! " he said, " what a downcome for that hose! " " Is it no'? " chuckled Postie. " Whose account is it on? " said Toddle. " Oh, I don't ken," said Postie, carelessly. " He had [326] CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN crediton. a' owre the country. I was aye bringing the t^^ ir»; ''hh ';7."^f -»' -rts. 'Don't Lntion that Si t ^. ?■" "' "■""•" He was unwilling ^lltt^^'ettf "" ""^"^ ^^'^' ""^ ^P°" '>•» -" ".V«/ me! "Toddle assured him grandly, shaking his mni'^n KY^ •'°"''"^* "^ '""^^ kind a thoui IJlgLuL" """' P"'*' ^'" "° ^^"""'^ 't t" "^ 'i^- TT J!! V°l "'"""^•^ '" *° *^™- Gowlay's back-door. wa« thi" ''"''^, "^''^■•-^te'nped letter on which there t?„ *'''f Pr« to pay. He might pick „p an item or two while she was getting him the bawbees. He knocked, but there was no answer "The sluts!" said he, with a humph of disgust- they're still on their backs, it seems " ^ ' He knocked again. The sound of his knuckles on the door rang out hollowly, as if there was nothing bul emptmess w. bin. While he waited he turned on the £ oTa J "" '''' ^* '''' •'""^y*'^- The enwalled little place was curiously still. At last in his impatience he turned the handle, when to has surprise the door opened, and let him enter th JS' ! f " ^'"' *"""'^ ^ ^^^ fr«* wind from the door. A large lamp was burning on the table Its b.g yellow flame was unnatural in the sunshine. "littTpZni "^'^ !^'"'' *°*"°S ^'' ''^^ i» disgust, house! ''Z^:\r^\^S ^f d to wreck and ruin in thi house! The slovens have left the lamp buminjr the [327] THE HOUSE "WITH THE QKEEN 8HUTTEES A few dead ashes were sticking from the lower bars of the range. Postie crossed to the fireplace and looked down at the fender. That bright spot would be the place, now, where auld Oourlay killed himself. The women must have rubbed it so bright in trying to get out the blood. It was an uncanny thing to keep in the house, that. He stared at the fatal spot till he grew eerie in the strange stillness. " Guidwife! " he cried, " Jennet! Don't ye hear? " They did not hea^ , it seemed. " God I " said he,- " they sleep sound after all their misfortunes! " At last — partly in impatience, and partly from a wish to pry — he opened the door of the parlour. " Oh, my Ood! " he screamed, leaping back, and with his bulky bag got stuck in the kitchen door, in his desperate hurry to be gone. He ran round to the Square in front, and down to Sandy Toddle, who was informing a bunch of unshaven bodies that the Gourlays were " sequestered." " Oh, my God, post, what have you seen, to bring that look to your eyes? What have you seen, man? Speak for God's sake! What is it? " The post gasped and stammered — then " Oohl " he shivered in horror, and covered his eyes, at a sudden picture in his brain. " Speak! " said a man solenmly. "They have — they have — they have a' killed them- selves," stammered the postman, pointing to the Gour- lays'. Their loins were loosened beneath them. The scrape [388] CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN of their feet on the road, as they turned to stare, sounded monstrous in the silence. No man dared t speak. They gazed with blanched faces at the House with the Green Shutters, sitting dark there and terrible, beneath the radiant arch of the dawn. THK END i: i I m < ri-i^ir-u^V i""1fmfT ^ ''-mm mmvsE -"■--*-'=^