MISADVENTURES 
 
 OSEPH
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 JAMES J. MC BRIDE
 
 f I
 
 u 
 
 The Misadventures of Joseph
 
 By J. J. BELL 
 
 The Misadventures of Joseph 
 
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 Times.
 
 And now the rain came down in earnest (see page 33)
 
 The 
 
 Misadventures of Joseph 
 
 BY 
 J. J. BELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ' Oh I Christina! '" "Whither Thou Goest," "Wee Mac f re eg or, ' 
 "Wuttie McWatties Master" etc. 
 
 NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO 
 
 Fleming H. Revell Company 
 
 LONDON AND EDINBURGH
 
 Copyright, 1914, by 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago: 125 North Wabash Ave. 
 Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. 
 London: 21 Paternoster Square 
 Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
 
 (o 
 
 To 
 JAMES GIBSON 
 
 712503
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 I NAMESAKES - 9 
 
 II THE TREAT AND THE TREATMENT 27 
 
 III THE PLEDGE 39 
 
 IV THE OPPOSITION MAN - - 65 
 V A COSTLY NAP 87 
 
 VI A BID FOR FAME - - 98 
 
 VII "THE WEE DUG" - 119 
 
 VIII FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS - 131 
 
 IX His OLD ENEMY - - - 153 
 
 X AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH - - 171
 
 NAMESAKES 
 
 MR. JOSEPH REDHORN, the Fairport 
 painter, paper-hanger and decorator, 
 as he was given to styling himself, was 
 never in the best of humours when roused from 
 a Saturday afternoon nap ; and on this occasion 
 his irritation was not lessened by the discovery 
 of Mr. John McNab, the reputed oldest inhabi- 
 tant, on the doorstep of his bachelor abode. So 
 far as Joseph's experience went, a visit from 
 Mr. McNab meant little more than a dreary 
 dissertation on the latter's great age and a 
 notable shrinkage in the former's stock of gin- 
 ger-wine. 
 
 Nevertheless, the painter's invitation to enter, 
 though interrupted by a yawn, was not inhos- 
 pitable. "I hope ye're weel, John," he said, 
 guiding the old man to the shabby, comfortable 
 easy chair. 
 
 "Fine." The reply was delivered with un- 
 wonted briskness. Mr. McNab seated himself, 
 looked about him, grinned and rubbed his hands. 
 9
 
 io THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "I'm no' gaun to bide a meenute, Joseph. I 
 merely drapped in to bid ye come an' ha'e yer 
 supper wi' us the nicht." 
 
 "Aw!" exclaimed Mr. Redhorn, who was 
 more used to entertaining than to being enter- 
 tained. He stroked his long nose and blinked 
 doubtingly at his visitor. 
 
 "I'm no' jokin'," said Mr. McNab. "The auld 
 wife has made a pie, an' I've got a gran' surprise 
 for ye!" 
 
 "Weel, I'm sure it's excessively kind o' ye," 
 the painter said, recovering confidence in him- 
 self and humanity generally. "If ye'll wait for 
 three meenutes, I'll gi'e masel' a bit tosh up. 
 Fortunately, I pit on a clean sark, etceetera, 
 afore I had ma dinner the day." He went over 
 to the sink. "I'll jist get rid o' the dews o' 
 kindly sleep, as it were, an' then " 
 
 "Phoo!" exclaimed Mr. McNab, "it's terrible 
 warm the day!" He cast a wistful glance in 
 the direction of a certain cupboard. 
 
 "It is that," agreed Joseph, turning on the 
 tap. "It's no' the weather for ginger-wine, or 
 I wud " 
 
 "There's a chill in the heat, too," said Mr. 
 MdNab. "If ye was as auld as me " 
 
 "Wud ye try a taste o' ginger-wine, John?" 
 
 "Oh, weel, I'm no parteec'lar; but I'll tak' a
 
 NAMESAKES n 
 
 taste for comp'ny's sake. I'll wait till ye've 
 feenished washin' yer face." 
 
 "I'll no' be a jiffy." 
 
 "Dinna hurry yersel' for me," Mr. McNab said 
 condescendingly, and quite unconsciously 
 smacked his lips. "Ye'll be wonderin' what that 
 gran' surprise is," he remarked presently. 
 
 "'Deed, ay," returned Joseph, who was much 
 afraid it would be something to eat in addition 
 to the pie. "But I'm curbin' ma' curiosity." 
 
 Mr. McNab gave a hoarse but happy chuckle. 
 "Ma gran'son Peter an' his wife arrived the 
 day/' he announced. "Likewise their off- 
 spring." 
 
 "D'ye tell me that?" said Mr. Redhorn, from 
 behind a towel. "Is the offspring numerous?" 
 he inquired in a tone of well-feigned interest. 
 
 "Na, na. It's their first." Another chuckle. 
 
 "A singular offspring!" commented the 
 painter, polishing his bald forehead. Then, sud- 
 denly, he dropped the towel. "Criftens!" he 
 cried, striding across the room and grasping the 
 other's hand, "So ye're a great gran'fayther !" 
 
 "But that's no' the gran' surprise," said the 
 old man a little later, as he sipped, with grateful 
 sounds, the ginger-wine which his host had made 
 haste to set before him. "I've aye wanted to 
 dae ye a guid turn, Joseph, for ye've been rael 
 kind to the auld wife an' me "
 
 12 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Whisht, man!" The painter picked up and 
 reapplied the towel. 
 
 "Weel, I'll no' say ony mair aboot it the noo." 
 Mr. McNab laid down his empty glass with a 
 thump. "I'll spare yer blushes." 
 
 "Help yersel', John." 
 
 "Thenk ye." 
 
 An hour passed ere Mr. McNab, who had 
 become more than usually garrulous, declared 
 himself ready for the road. "We maunna for- 
 get the pie," he remarked gaily. 
 
 "We maunna forget the pie," Joseph solemnly 
 echoed, and, going to the mantel-piece, helped 
 himself to a draught from a bottle labelled 
 "Dyspepsia Elixir," observing, not for the first 
 time, that prevention was better than cure. 
 
 Then, taking the old man's arm, he conducted 
 him, puffing cheerfully, homewards. 
 
 The necessary introductions were in the little 
 garden in front of the cottage. 
 
 "This is ma gran'son Peter," said Mr. Mc- 
 Nab to Joseph. "Ye'll mind his fayther." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn nodded and shook hands with 
 the smiling young man. 
 
 "An' this is Peter's wife, Jessie." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn blushed, touched his bowler hat, 
 and gently clasped the fingers of the pale, pretty
 
 NAMESAKES 13 
 
 girl who sat on the old green bench with a shawl- 
 covered bundle in her arms. 
 
 "An* this " The old man put out trembling 
 fingers and withdrew them. "I'm feart I'll hurt 
 it, Jessie. You draw back the shawl." When 
 she had done so "An' this," he said, with a 
 soft chuckle, "is ma great-gran'sonl" 
 
 Much embarrassed, Mr. Redhorn peered into 
 the tiny, slumbering face. 
 
 "A bonny wee lad, is he no'?" murmured the 
 great-grandmother, approaching softly. 
 
 "Ay, ay," said Joseph, helplessly. Then feel- 
 ing it incumbent upon him to make some intel- 
 ligent remark, he added: "It'll be forty year 
 since I was as close to an infant." 
 
 Mr. McNab created a welcome diversion. 
 
 "And noo for the gran' surprise!" he cried. 
 "Joseph, what dae ye think we're for namin' 
 ma great-gran'son ?" 
 
 "Whisht, man!" said old Mrs. McNab; "ye 
 maun ask Maister Ridhorn's leave first." 
 
 "Tits, wife! Ye dinna need to ask leave to 
 pay a man a compliment." He dug the painter 
 in the ribs. "Ma great-gran'son's name is to be 
 Joseph efter yer noble sel'I" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn gasped. "Me!" he cried in dire 
 confusion, as red as a turkey-cock. But when 
 the young couple modestly begged his permission, 
 his confusion became merged in gratification,
 
 14 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 and by supper-time he was swelling somewhat 
 with pride, though, having drunk the infant's 
 health in tea, he modestly expressed the hope 
 that he might live to be worthy of his namesake. 
 
 On the way home he encountered his appren- 
 tice, Willie McWattie. 
 
 "Wullie," he said, after explaining matters, 
 "if it wasna for thon pie and the corn on ma 
 wee toe, I wud feel like as if I was treadin' 
 on air! Remember me to raise yer wages a 
 shillin' next Seturday." 
 
 Four days later he called at the cottage. 
 
 "I believe it's a custom an' an excellent cus- 
 tom it is," he stammered "for a party in ma 
 prood poseetion to to " Here he broke down 
 so far as speech was concerned, and presented 
 the young mother, on her offspring's behalf, with 
 a silver mug bearing the inscription: "Joseph 
 John McNab, I4th July, 1912 A.D. (to the sil- 
 versmith he had insisted on the "A.D.") from 
 his well-wisher, J. R." 
 
 About three weeks after the christening, Mr. 
 Redhorn fell into a depressed state. Such a 
 condition was not infrequently his, and as a rule 
 he attributed it to the fact of Providence's hav-
 
 NAMESAKES .15 
 
 ing seen fit to supply him with "interior organs 
 o' inferior quality." Now, however, a combina- 
 tion of circumstances by no means supernatural 
 were to be held accountable. Within the space 
 of a few hours he had been worsted in a philo- 
 sophical argument with his old enemy, Danks 
 the fishmonger; 'he had received news which 
 meant a "bad debt" of several pounds; a lady 
 had flatly refused to permit him to decorate her 
 hall and staircase with a stencil pattern of his 
 own invention which he proudly designated, 
 "The Redhorn Conventional Comet"; a consign- 
 ment of linseed oil, urgently needed, had not 
 come to hand; and Willie, the apprentice, had 
 departed on a fortnight's holiday. Further, the 
 old McNabs had gone on a visit to friends in 
 the city. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, engaged in applying green paint 
 to a summer-house in the grounds of the laird, 
 smote a fly on his nose, and came to the con- 
 clusion that he was, among other dismal things, 
 a "shupremely shuperfluous indiveedual," which, 
 being interpreted, meant simply that 'he was feel- 
 ing lonesome. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that he welcomed the 
 greeting of Jamie Caldwell, a gardener on the 
 estate, and a person with whom he had hitherto 
 enjoyed little more than a nodding acquaint- 
 ance.
 
 16 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Warm," said Jamie, briefly but pleasantly, 
 halting as though to light his pipe. 
 
 "Ay, it's warm," said Joseph, "and the flies 
 is something atrocious." 
 
 "Ay, they're bad the day A' the same, I wish 
 I had your job, Ridhorn." 
 
 "Dae ye?" said the painter dryly. "What's 
 wrang with the gardenin'?" 
 
 "In ma opeenion," the gardener remarked, not 
 without hesitation, "the pentin's what ye might 
 ca' a noble trade." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn methodically laid his brush 
 across the rim of the paint-pot, folded his arms, 
 and faced the speaker. 
 
 "Caldwell," he said warmly, "I didna ken there 
 was a man in Fairport wi' sich a lofty mind. 
 Though it has been prostituted by obscene char- 
 acters that ha'e caused it to stink in the estima- 
 tion of the public through their gross unpunc- 
 tuality, slovenliness, trickery, etceetera the 
 pentin' trade is, as ye observe, a noble trade 
 or profession and I'm prood to be its devotee. 
 An' I'm obleeged to ye for yer inspirin' words 
 o' appreciation Dash the flies!" 
 
 It must be confessed that Mr. Caldwell was 
 somewhat taken aback by the unexpected torrent 
 of eloquence, the source of which he had un- 
 wittingly tapped. Recovering his wits, he spat 
 gracefully upon a calceolaria, and said : "It's you
 
 NAMESAKES 17 
 
 for the speechify in' ! Ye should be in the Hoose 
 o' Commons, Ridhorn. By gum ! ye would mak' 
 the sleepy-heids sit up." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. "Ma verbosity 
 got the better o' me the noo," he said modestly. 
 "Still, I couldna but be gratified at yer remark, 
 espaycially comin' frae a beautifier o' the uni- 
 verse like yersel'." 
 
 "Oh, we're a' daein' oor best in that line, I 
 hope," Mr. Caldwell returned carelessly. "But 
 I suppose ye prefer something fancier nor a 
 summer-house to pent. This doesna gi'e ye a 
 chance for to show yer skill." 
 
 "True," replied the painter, flicking an insect 
 from his ear ; "but we've got to tak' the rough wi' 
 the fine, the plain wi' the elaborate, etceetera." 
 
 There was a pause, during which the gar- 
 dener's eyes roved the neighbourhood as though 
 in search of further inspiration. 
 
 "The ither day I heard yer 'Conventional 
 Comets' spoken highly o'," he said at last. 
 
 "Did ye that?" Mr. Redhorn looked pleased. 
 "Wha was the appreciator o' ma modest crea- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I canna mind, but I heard it sure enough. 
 And that reminds me, I was gaun to tell ye, Rid- 
 horn, that the greenhooses up thonder are due 
 a coat o' pent, and I was thinkin' I wud gi'e a
 
 18 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 hint to Sir Archibald to let you ha'e the job-~ 
 that is, if ye're wantin' it." 
 
 "Man," cried Joseph, "that's exceedin' kind o' 
 ye. I'll be glad to ha'e the job, for the prospec's 
 o' trade in Fairport are no' brilliant at the mo- 
 ment. Thenk ye, thenk ye!" 
 
 "Dinna mention it." Mr. Caldwell looked at 
 his watch. "Gor! it's five o'clock! Ye'll be 
 stoppin' sune eh? Ye best come up and tak' 
 ye tea wi' us the nicht. Ye ken the cottage?" 
 
 "Aw, but" 
 
 "Ye dinna need to gang hame for yer tea?" 
 
 "Na I'm a bachelor, ye ken but yer kind- 
 ness " 
 
 "Ye'll be welcome. I'll expec' ye at the back 
 o' six," said Mr. Caldwell. 
 
 He left the painter glowing with more than 
 the warmth of the sun. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn enjoyed his tea that night. He 
 found Mr. Caldwell a genial host, and made the 
 acquaintance of his five children, who behaved 
 with wondrous decorum and treated the guest 
 with the utmost respect. He made the acquaint- 
 ance, also, of a "fine boy" just three days 
 old. . . . 
 
 ***** 
 On a black and stormy night, in November,
 
 NAMESAKES 19 
 
 Mr. Redhorn rang after several feebly-futile 
 attempts the bell of one of the larger houses 
 in Fairport, and, the door being opened, inquired 
 in a faltering voice 
 
 "Is the doctor in?" 
 
 The new housekeeper Joseph was thankful 
 she was a stranger led the way to the consult- 
 ing room. 
 
 "Take a seat, please. What is the name?" she 
 said. 
 
 "Ridhorn, the penter." 
 
 "I don't think he'll keep you waiting long," 
 she said, sympathetically, encouragingly, judg- 
 ing from voice and countenance that the patient 
 was in considerable agony. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn seated himself on the corner of 
 a chair, sniffed the iodo form-laden atmosphere, 
 and groaned softly. 
 
 "This room has beheld a heap o' sufferin'," 
 he reflected, his gaze on the crimson easy chair 
 wherein the inhabitants of Fairport reclined 
 when parting with their teeth. "Oh, I wish I 
 hadna come," he was saying to himself when 
 Dr. McLeod appeared. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Redhorn, this is a wild night. What 
 can I do for you?" 
 
 "Ay, it's a wild nicht I cam' to to con- 
 sult ye " Joseph stuck fast. 
 
 "The old trouble?"
 
 20 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Joseph shook his head. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, man." The doctor smiled 
 encouragingly. "Tooth bothering you?" 
 
 "Na; it's no' exac'ly a tooth, doctor," the 
 painter forced himself to reply. "It's sharper 
 than a serpent's tooth " 
 
 The doctor seated himself in the crimson chair 
 and leaned over and took Joseph's wrist. "Let 
 me see your tongue." 
 
 Joseph meekly protruded the member men- 
 tioned. 
 
 "Been sticking to plain food?" 
 
 "I I confess I had a bit o' sawmon for a treat 
 the week afore last." 
 
 "H'm!" 
 
 "I had ma apprentice to his tea that nicht. In 
 confidence, doctor, he ett the majority o' the 
 tin. But he was at his wark the next day." 
 
 "H'm!" said the doctor again, and released 
 the patient's wrist. "Tongue's all right and pulse 
 isn't bad. Tell me what you feel wrong with 
 you." 
 
 "Naething." 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 "Jist that, doctor." 
 
 "Then then what do you want me to do for 
 you?" 
 
 "I I W as wantin'" Joseph produced his
 
 NAMESAKES 21 
 
 handkerchief and applied it to 'his forehead "I 
 was wantin' to consult ye." 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "Heaven help me!" murmured the painter, 
 "hoo am I to divulge the query?" 
 
 "Don't be afraid," the doctor once more said. 
 "Anything you say here, short of a confession 
 of murder, is sacred. I'm used to keeping se- 
 crets." 
 
 "Ye'll be as secret as the tomb ?" 
 
 "As secret as the tomb," replied Dr. McLeod, 
 solemnly, though his mouth twitched at the cor- 
 ners. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn took a furtive survey of. the 
 apartment. "Could onybody hear me speakin' in 
 here?" 
 
 "Keep your mind easy on that score." The 
 doctor rose. "But I'll lock the door." He did 
 so, and came back to his seat. "Now, what's the 
 trouble, my friend?" 
 
 Joseph moistened his lips and performed the 
 act of swallowing several times. Then "Is yer 
 charge the same, whatever I consult ye aboot?" 
 
 "Oh, don't bother yourself about my charge. 
 That will be all right Yes, yes; my charge 
 is the same for all consultations." 
 
 "It's no' that I wud grudge ye yer charge, 
 doctor," said Joseph. "In fact I'll be real willin'
 
 22 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 to pay ye onything in reason if ye can tell me " 
 He stuck fast again. 
 
 "Tell you what, Redhorn?" 
 
 "Oh, this is terrible! . . . Aw, doctor, I 
 canna say it. I best get awa' hame. I'm sorry 
 for disturbin' ye. I " 
 
 "Look here," said the doctor, reaching over to 
 a small table for a pad and pencil; "if you 
 can't say it, perhaps you can write it down." 
 
 "I'll try," said Joseph after a long hesitation. 
 Ill try if ye'll no' look at me." 
 
 "I'll leave you alone for five minutes," the 
 doctor said kindly, and with an encouraging smile 
 went out. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, groaning, was presently in the 
 throes of composition. 
 
 The doctor returned, read what Joseph had 
 written, went scarlet with suppressed emotion, 
 and then exploded. 
 
 "I was feart ye would think it funny," said 
 Joseph ruefully, preparing to depart. 
 
 But the other patted him on the shoulder and 
 bade him sit down again. 
 
 On the following evening Mr. Redhorn and his 
 apprentice were seated at the former's untidy,
 
 NAMESAKES 23 
 
 cosy hearth. On a chair between them rested a 
 draughtboard. 
 
 To all appearances Mr. Redhorn was under a 
 spell of absence of mind. He lay back in his 
 easy-chair, gazing vacantly yet fixedly at the 
 cigarette of the worst possible quality which he 
 held between his finger and thumb, and which 
 had gone out some minutes ago. He breathed 
 heavily through his long nose. A survivor of the 
 summer fly legions disported itself in half- 
 hearted fashion over his few remaining hairs. 
 
 "That was the third game to me," remarked 
 the apprentice, who had just finished setting the 
 "men" in their places. He had done this with 
 the utmost method and determination in order 
 to allow his host a reasonable time for self-com- 
 munion. But surely that time was now ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn paid no attention to the remark. 
 
 Willie waited for about thirty seconds. Then 
 "Maister Ridhorn, I'm sayin' it was the third 
 game to me." 
 
 "Oh, was it?" the painter stirred with a sigh. 
 "Weel, I'm sure ye're welcome, laddie." 
 
 "Ye're playin' shockin' bad the nicht," said 
 Willie. 
 
 "Ah, I dare say." 
 
 "What's wrang wi' ye? Is it yer dyspeepsia 
 again ?"
 
 24 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 There was no answer. The apprentice began 
 to despair of getting another game before the 
 hour for home-going, and Mr. Redhorn had evi- 
 dently forgotten the customary eight o'clock re- 
 freshment in the shape of a bottle of lemonade." 
 
 Suddenly the host sat up. "Wullie," he said 
 slowly, "wud ye say I was lackin' in moral cour- 
 age, or merely in common sense?" 
 
 "Are ye thinkin' aboot the toasted cheese ye 
 had for tea?" 
 
 "Na, na!" 
 
 Willie considered. "Are ye thinkin' aboot the 
 silver mugs, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "Ay. . . . Which am I lackin' in moral 
 courage, or " 
 
 "Both," said Willie. "Are ye no' for anither 
 game?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn grunted. "But hoo, I ask ye, 
 could I refuse to let Jamie Caldwell an' Tammas 
 Broon an' Sam McLeod name their sons "Jo- 
 seph' efter masel'? I repeat, hoo could I re- 
 fuse?" 
 
 "Ye didn't need to refuse I'll play ye a man 
 short this time, jist to gi'e ye a chance but ye 
 didna need to gi'e a' the babies mugs." 
 
 "But I had gi'ed McNab's great-gran'son a 
 mug." 
 
 "Ach, weel, ye shouldna ha'e been sae saft. Ye 
 should ha'e stopped at Caldwell, onyway."
 
 NAMESAKES 25 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sighed. "It's no' that I grudge 
 the puir wee innocents their mugs, but . . . 
 Aweel, I suppose I should be thenkfu' that the 
 baby born in Fairport the ither day Finlay 
 Thomson's was o' the female gender." He 
 paused for a moment. "I consulted the doctor 
 confedentially yesterday, an' it was encouragin' 
 to hear that he had nae prognostications o' fur- 
 ther juvenile arrivals afore the Spring. Maybe 
 by that time the name 'Joseph' '11 be oot o' fash- 
 ion. Of course the doctor couldna guarantee " 
 
 "I've moved," said Willie, a trifle impatiently. 
 
 "Itherwise we'll ha'e to pray for a boom in the 
 Fairport pentin' trade. . . . Aweel, we'll get 
 back to oor game, laddie. I've nae richt to cast 
 a gloom on ye. An' I confess I'm feelin' mair 
 hopeful since Criftens ! there's somebody at the 
 door. See wha it is. It's ower late for auld 
 John McNab." 
 
 Entered Mr. and Mrs. Finlay Thomson. The 
 latter, frail-looking, flushed, bearing a bundle of 
 shawls which emitted faint squeaks. 
 
 Said Mr. Thomson, after his wife was seated : 
 "It was a fine nicht, so we thought we wad bring 
 ye a dizzen fresh eggs, likewise oor wee lassie 
 to let ye see her." He laughed. "Ye see, Rid- 
 horn, ye've got the reputation o' bein' a judge 
 o' babies!" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn laughed also. He felt safe
 
 26 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 enough this time, and though he was still shy 
 of infants, he did not hesitate to draw near when 
 Mrs. Thomson uncovered the little one's face. 
 
 "Vera satisfactory, vera satisfactory," he mur- 
 mured, using the phrase that was in danger of 
 becoming natural. 
 
 "If it had been a boy," said the father, bring- 
 ing out his pipe, "we wud ha'e asked yer leave 
 to call it Joseph." 
 
 "I'm sure," said Joseph cordially, "I wud ha'e 
 been exceedin'ly gratified." 
 
 "Thenk ye," said Mr. Thomson. "In that case, 
 and seein' it's a lassie, we'll name it " He 
 paused, smiling to his wife. 
 
 "Josephine," said Mrs. Thomson softly. 
 
 There was a crash. Willie had deliberately 
 knocked over the draughtboard.
 
 II 
 
 THE TREAT AND THE TREATMENT 
 
 ON a certain Saturday afternoon in March 
 Mr. Redhorn was returning home from 
 an afternoon-dinner walk, which he had 
 undertaken more for the benefit of his body than 
 for his own pleasure. As he occasionally ex- 
 plained to sympathizers, his "members were aye 
 mair or less at war" among themselves. For 
 example, if, as now, he sought pedestrian prac- 
 tice for digestion's sake, his corns immediately 
 became "excruciatin' " ; or did an unwonted 
 peace in his pedal extremities suggest exercise, 
 he was sure to be threatened with a shocking 
 cold in the head. To-day Mr. Redhorn had not 
 been sorry to curtail his walk, accepting the low- 
 ering aspect of the southern sky as a good and 
 sufficient excuse for permitting a triumph of the 
 flesh. 
 
 Thinking of his bachelor fireside, his ancient 
 easy-chair, his carpet slippers, and a penny nov- 
 elette, he was proceeding somewhat gingerly 
 across a recently-mended patch of roadway, 
 27
 
 28 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 when 'he narrowly escaped a fall over a small 
 girl who had emerged from a cottage garden on 
 his right. She was sobbing bitterly. 
 
 "Mercy!"' he ejaculated, recovering his bal- 
 ance, "did I hurt ye, lassie?" 
 
 She shook her flaxen head and continued to 
 sob. 
 
 "What for are ye greetin'?" he kindly en- 
 quired. 
 
 "Ma mither skelpit me." 
 
 "Oh, indeed !" he murmured. "An an' what 
 for did she skelp ye?" 
 
 "For greetin'." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn softly scratched the back of his 
 head. "I'm no' keen on interferin' in domestic 
 affairs," he said slowly, and removed his hand 
 from his head to his pocket, "but I believe I've 
 a thrupp'ny-bit in ma purse Oh, here's yer 
 mither comin'!" 
 
 "Aw, Maister Ridhorn," cried the hot, tired- 
 looking woman, as she came down to the gate, 
 "dinna pet her, if ye please. She's been that bad 
 the day, an' her brithers an' sisters ha'ena been 
 muckle better. I didna mean for to hurt her. But 
 ma man's in his bed wi' a twisted knee, an' his 
 mither's busy turnin' the hoose upside doon, an' 
 ma youngest is cuttin' a terrible tooth, an' I'm 
 a week behind wi' ma washin', an' weel, is it 
 ony wonder if I whiles loss ma temper an' gi'e
 
 THE TREAT AND THE TREATMENT 29 
 
 a scud here an' there? What wi' seeven bairns, 
 an' the auldest no' yet ten " 
 
 "Say nae mair, Mistress Tosh. A' the sym- 
 pathy I used to lavish on Job is hereby trans- 
 ferred to yersel'! I dinna wonder at ye lossin' 
 yer temper in a sma' way, but I marvel at ye 
 keepin' yer youth " 
 
 "Hoots, Maister Ridhorn, I'm gettin' like an 
 auld wife." Nevertheless, Mrs. Tosh looked a 
 trifle less distracted, and began to tidy her hair 
 in absent fashion. 
 
 "Noo, if ye've nae objections," said the painter, 
 recovering from the effort involved in producing 
 the compliment, and from the s'elf -consciousness 
 that had followed its utterance, "I'll tak' this 
 wee lassie to the village an' see her buy a wheen 
 sweeties." 
 
 Ere the pleased mother and the now beaming 
 daughter could express themselves, a little cho- 
 rus of wails arose from behind the hedge, and 
 next moment five youngsters appeared at the 
 gate. 
 
 "Are we no' gaun to get buyin' sweeties, too ?" 
 they cried, with one accord. 
 
 "Jessie'll gi'e ye some o' hers," Mrs. Tosh 
 said hastily. 
 
 Whereupon the eldest daughter exclaimed, "I 
 wudna trust her," while the youngest son piped,
 
 30 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Want to buy wheeties for masel'." A childish 
 babel ensued. 
 
 It must be confessed that the middle-aged 
 bachelor was miserably embarrassed. With all 
 his desire to be kind to children, he was utterly 
 unfamiliar with them and their ways. A vision 
 of himself entering the village with half-a-dozen 
 "weans" in his charge made him feel warm. He 
 stood blinking his pale blue eyes and stroking 
 the bridge of his nose sure sign of his feeling 
 at a loss. 
 
 "Please, Maister Ridhorn!" said the eldest 
 daughter, with an alluring look. 
 
 "Whisht, Mary !" sharply muttered the mother. 
 
 "Please, Maister Ridhorn !" cried all the other 
 children excepting Jessie, who need not be con- 
 demned as greedy because her lip quivered. She 
 had been promised a whole threepenny-bit, and 
 now it was likely to dwindle to a ha'penny. Such 
 a slump is ill to be borne by people older than 
 Jessie; besides, even the older people prefer to 
 handle their own for a time, at least before 
 they give any of it away. 
 
 Surreptitiously she gave the painter's sleeve a 
 timid tug. 
 
 That settled it. Mr. Redhorn pulled himself 
 together and his purse from his pocket. A gen- 
 eral sigh went up as the small coin passed into 
 Jessie's little hand. "It's hers to dae what she
 
 THE TREAT AND THE TREATMENT 31 
 
 likes wi'," he said ; "but if the ithers like to come 
 to the shop, they'll each get a pennyworth o' 
 sweeties." A chorus of approval interrupted the 
 speech. "Will ye let them come, Mistress Tosh ? 
 I I'll see that they dinna meet wi' ony accident, 
 an' it'll gi'e you ten meenutes breathin' space, as 
 is were." 
 
 At first Mrs. Tosh protested ; then she thanked 
 the painter and gave her consent, with numerous 
 admonitions to her offspring to "behave" them- 
 selves. 
 
 Let us slur over the progress to ,the village. 
 The children discussed what sweets they would 
 choose, but the painter, as anxious as a hen for 
 the safety of her brood, said never a word. The 
 youngest got tired, and demanded to be carried, 
 and eventually the painter, who had never in his 
 life held a child, picked him up awkwardly, and 
 bore him along with nervous care, pulling faces 
 unconsciously and perspiring profusely. All the 
 way Jessie clutched his jacket with one hand, 
 while with the other she warmed her precious 
 piece of silver. Evidently she already regarded 
 the giver no less than the gift as her especial 
 property. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn entered the village with acute 
 misgivings. The amusement of his neighbours 
 and the curiosity of his neighbours' children were 
 certainly trying to his sense of dignity.
 
 32 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Is it a Sabbath schule treat or a circus ?" the 
 piermaster jocularly enquired, and Mr. Danks, 
 the fishmonger, demanded of Heaven to declare 
 why Redhorn had gone and got married on the 
 sly. Some unfeeling humorist addressed him as 
 "Paw," and goodness knows what he might have 
 retorted had not the little boy in 'his arms in- 
 continently embraced and kissed him, whereat 
 a semi-ironical cheer went up. 
 
 But, somehow, the little boy had drawn the 
 sting from it all. "Let them gas !" said Mr. Red- 
 horn under his breath, and strode onward with 
 his trotting "family" to the sweet shop. 
 
 Amid such a display of "goodies" the six chil- 
 dren were loth to choose; none would "burst" 
 his or her whole penny on one sort of sweet, 
 and several insisted on making farthing pur- 
 chases. Moreover, the old woman was as slow 
 of movement as she was hard of hearing. 
 
 At the end of twenty minutes Mr. Redhorn 
 found courage to remonstrate, and business pro- 
 ceeded in something like earnest. It was then that 
 Mr. Redhorn, turning for the first time to the 
 window, perceived that it was beginning to rain. 
 Also he perceived that the shop was watched by 
 a throng of children with solemn round eyes, 
 envious, wistful. 
 
 "This," said the painter to himself, "is mair 
 nor I expected in ma worst forebodin's."
 
 THE TREAT AND THE TREATMENT 33 
 
 At long last everybody in the shop was satis- 
 fied. 
 
 "Bide a meenute," commanded Mr. Redhorn, 
 opening the door. The rain had thickened, but 
 the "outsiders" were still there. He counted 
 them seventeen. He blinked at them, stroked 
 his nose, and muttered "Criftens! I hadna bar- 
 gained for this an' it's no' even the New Year." 
 Then "In for a penny, etceetera," he said aloud, 
 and took out his purse once more. To the old 
 woman he gave money, to the "outsiders" a fal- 
 tering intimation that they had merely to enter 
 the shop in order to obtain a pennyworth of 
 sweets each. 
 
 There was practically no demonstration until 
 he and his band had left the shop, and then the 
 yells went up and the rush began. Of the old 
 woman it may be recorded how, an hour later, 
 she devoutly thanked her Maker that the next 
 day was the Sabbath. 
 
 And now the rain came down in earnest. 
 
 "This is awfu' !" cried Mr. Redhorn, picturing 
 himself returning six dripping bairns to a 
 wearied mother. "What's to be done? Whaur 
 can we gang? We best try " 
 
 Jessie gave his sleeve a little tug, not so timid 
 as the first. "We could gang to your hoose," 
 site said softly. 
 
 For a moment he hesitated, then threw up his
 
 34 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 head and led the way, the youngest again in his 
 arms. Let the neighbours laugh! 
 
 But in the untidy, dingy kitchen, which he 
 called home, he once more stroked his nose. 
 What on earth was to be done with "a' they 
 weans?" He was beginning to feel desperate, 
 when through the streaming window he caught 
 sight of his apprentice, Willie McWattie, hurry- 
 ing along, clad in oilskins. He got the sash up 
 just in time. 
 
 "Wullie here!" 
 
 "Hullo!" said Willie, returning. "My! ye've 
 got comp'ny, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "Ay. . . . Wullie, are ye busy the noo?" 
 
 "There's a chap comin' to his tea at oor hoose. 
 Was ye wantin' me for onything?" 
 
 The painter suppressed a sigh. "Na, na. . . . 
 But, Wullie eh since ye'll be passin' Tosh's 
 cottage, I wish ye wud tell Mistress Tosh that 
 'm keepin' her weans here to gi'e the rain a 
 chance to stop. Tell her no* to be anxious. 
 They're a' in the best of health, etceetera." 
 
 "I'll tell her. Is that a'?" 
 
 "Ay. Thenk ye, laddie. . . . Oh, bide a mee- 
 nute ! Eh Wullie, what what does a body dae 
 wi' weans for to please them?" 
 
 "Gi'e them things to eat." 
 
 "What-like things?" 
 
 "Oh, sweeties an' pastries an' leemonade."
 
 THE TREAT AND THE TREATMENT 35 
 
 "I see. It's a wonder I didna think o' that. 
 Weel, I happen to ha'e a fers'h dizzen o' leemon- 
 ade in the hoose, but ye can tell the baker to send 
 me twa shillins' worth o' his best pastries in- 
 stanter." 
 
 "I'll dae that," said Wullie, receiving the 
 money. 
 
 "Stop, Wullie! D'ye think twa shillin's' 
 worth'll be ample?" 
 
 Willie surveyed the children. "Oh, ay," he 
 replied, "there's nane o' them extra big. Is that 
 a', Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "That's a', an' may Heaven reward ye." 
 
 As Mr. Redhorn turned from the window sev- 
 eral young voices put the enquiry 
 
 "Is the pastries for us?" 
 
 "Surely." 
 
 "An' the leemonade?" 
 
 "Jist that." 
 
 They regarded him in silent awe and admira- 
 tion, until Jessie tugged his sleeve, and whis- 
 pered, "Are ye no' for a sweety?" 
 
 "Criftens!" cried the painter, "I ha'ena ett a 
 sweety for five-an'-thirty year!" 
 
 Two hours also all the pastries and most of 
 the lemonade had gone. 
 
 Mr, Redhorn lay back in his chair and
 
 36 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 anxiously surveyed his young guests who were 
 working their wills on his household possessions. 
 The four girls were playing at "shops," with 
 everything they had cared to lay hands on. The 
 elder boy was enjoying a lump of putty as big 
 as his head, and the younger, having lately re- 
 moved the pendulum from the eight-day clock, 
 was gazing fascinated at the venerable thing's 
 crazy performance. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn was troubled; yet neither per- 
 sonal discomfort nor fear for his property was 
 the cause of his anxiety. To gratify Jessie he had 
 eaten half a penny pastry, and the result to him- 
 self had been so dire that he was now filled with 
 forebodings as to what would happen to the small 
 persons who had consumed three or four pos- 
 sibly five whole ones apiece, with unstinted 
 washings-down of lemonade. 
 
 Through the window he could see the sinking 
 sun breaking through the clouds, and he guessed 
 that the weather would soon permit of home- 
 going. "I thought I had mair discreetion," he 
 sadly reflected. "If they become martyrs to dys- 
 peepsia like masel', what'll they think o' me? 
 An' what'll their mither say? Oh, dear! I 
 should ha'e kent better." 
 
 Just then Jessie made him one of her periodic 
 visits. "Are ye no' for a sweety ?" 
 
 "I couldna," he groaned, "as sure's death I
 
 THE TREAT AND THE TREATMENT 37 
 
 couldna. An' dinna eat ony mair yersel', like a 
 guid lassie." 
 
 "I've ett them a' excep' this yin. I'll gi'e ye 
 a kiss instead, if ye like." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, after a hurried glance at the 
 others, took the offering, blushing to the roots of 
 his few remaining hairs. Jessie retired as if 
 nothing had happened. 
 
 The little boy, suddenly wearying of the clock, 
 came over. "Want to sit on yer knee," he piped. 
 And Mr. Redhorn took him up, murmuring awk- 
 wardly, "Ye're welcome." 
 
 For a brief space the painter forgot his 
 anxiety in the novelty of the experience. Then 
 the little boy began to emit sounds of a 
 hiccupy nature, suggesting that he was still in 
 a highly aerated condition. 
 
 "Does it hurt ye?" Mr. Redhorn stammered, 
 and was only partially reassured by an emphatic 
 shake of the small head. 
 
 A knock at the door. The mother had come 
 for her own. 
 
 "I hope they'll be nane the waur," said Mr. 
 Redhorn, interrupting her final flow of thanks 
 from the doorstep. 
 
 "Oh, it's been a splendid treat for them," she 
 repeated, while her elder son, laden with his
 
 38 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 putty, asserted that it had knocked the last Sab- 
 bathschool treat into a cocked hat. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn smiled sadly. "I'm maybe a pes- 
 simist," he said, "but I've a motto which says: 
 'Efter the treat comes the treatment' ; an' I trust 
 ye'll no' be offended if ye receive the treatment 
 later. Guid nicht," he concluded hurriedly. 
 
 Mrs. Tosh's mystification over the motto evap- 
 orated an hour later, when she opened an oblong 
 parcel delivered by the grocer's boy. Under the 
 brown paper she found a full-size bottle of 
 "Dyspepsia Elixir."
 
 Ill 
 
 THE PLEDGE 
 
 MR. REDHORN, drowsily absorbed in 
 giving his toes a final toasting pre- 
 paratory to putting them and the rest 
 of himself to bed, was startled by a light tap- 
 ping on the door of his bachelor abode. 
 
 "Wha can it be at this time o'nicht?" he mut- 
 tered, getting into his ancient carpet slippers. 
 
 The tapping was repeated, still softly, but 
 more insistently. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, buttoning his waistcoat, shuffled 
 unwillingly to the door. 
 
 "Wha's there?" 
 
 "Me. . . . John Forgie!" 
 
 "John Forgie!" The painter's astonishment 
 was not unnatural, considering that Mr. Forgie, 
 though familiar as a neighbour, had never called 
 upon him before. "I was preparin' to retire," 
 he continued. "Is't onything important?" 
 
 "Ay, it's important, but I'll no' keep ye lang." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn opened the door. 
 
 "Step in," he said hospitably enough. 
 39
 
 40 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Thenk ye," replied the visitor, entering. He 
 was a little, middle-aged man, with moist blue 
 eyes, a fat, foolish, kindly countenance, side- 
 whiskers of a faded reddish hue, and a notably 
 bald head. "I'm vexed for disturbin' ye at this 
 time o' nicht," he remarked, crossing to the 
 hearth while the host closed the door. "But the 
 thing couldna stan', for I've got to gang to 
 Glesca the morn by the early boat." Without 
 waiting for an invitation he seated himself in 
 Mr. Redhorn's easy-chair, and smiled blandly 
 at nothing in particular. 
 
 "I'm sorry I canna offer ye a ceegar," said 
 the painter, with an ironical grimace, as he came 
 towards the hearth. 
 
 "Thenk ye; but I'll jist try yin o' yer ceegar- 
 ettes" he helped himself from a packet on the 
 shelf at his elbow "though to ma mind ceegar- 
 ettes arena worth the smokin'. Ha'e ye a 
 match ?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, repressing his irritation, passed 
 a box from the mantelpiece. 
 
 "Thenk ye." The little man lit up, and put the 
 box in his pocket. "I suppose ye dinna happen 
 to ha'e a bottle o' beer handy, Ridhorn ?" he said 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "Yer supposeetion," replied the painter stiffly, 
 "is correc'." 
 
 Mr. Forgie sighed. "Or whusky?"
 
 THE PLEDGE 41 
 
 "The answer is in the negative." 
 
 "Or . . . rum?" 
 
 "I can gi'e ye a nice gless o' castor-ile," said 
 Redhorn grimly. 
 
 Undismayed, the visitor sniggered. "It's you 
 for the jocular," he remarked, bending forward 
 to poke up the embers in the grate. 
 
 "See here, Maister Forgie," the painter said, 
 restraining his temper with difficulty, "I'm sorry 
 to disapp'int ye in yer quest for fluid refresh- 
 ment, but the time is noo ten-forty p.m., an' I've 
 a job at six the morn's mornin'." 
 
 "Ay, it's a peety aboot the refreshment. I 
 could ha'e done fine wi' a dram, but I'm no' the 
 man to tak' offence when I ken nae offence is 
 intended. Ye see " 
 
 "Weel, weel," the host interrupted impa- 
 tiently, "I'll maybe ha'e a bottle o' ginger wine 
 on tap the next time ye favour me wi' a call 
 if it's no' later nor nine o'clock." 
 
 "Thenk ye," said Mr. Forgie, as he helped him- 
 self to a fresh cigarette, having chewed most of 
 the first. "But ye're no' to think I cam' here 
 the nicht lookin' for hospitality. Na, na Rid- 
 horn! Ye're no' to think that!" 
 
 "What am I to think?" 
 
 "Sit doon, an' I'll tell ye." 
 
 "Is is it a lang story?" 
 
 Mr. Forgie shook his shiny head emphatically.
 
 42 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Sit doon, an' I'll tell ye." 
 
 With considerable reluctance Mr. Redhorn 
 took the deal chair at the table. "Proceed," he 
 said, in a weary voice, passing his hand over his 
 hair. 
 
 The other smirked. "Ye'll never guess what 
 I'm here for, Ridhorn." 
 
 "I ha'e nae intention o' tryin'." 
 
 "Weel, I'll tell ye. I'm here" snigger "for 
 to sign the pledge." 
 
 "The pledge?" Mr. Redhorn looked hard at 
 his visitor. "Ye appear to be sober." 
 
 "Ay, I'm sober. I ha'ena tasted a drap the 
 day." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stroked his nose. "But but 
 ye've jist been askin' me for beer, whusky, 
 etceetera !" 
 
 "I could ha'e done wi' a fareweel dram," said 
 Mr. Forgie, with a sigh. "But a' the same, I'm 
 here to sign the pledge the teetotal pledge." 
 
 "Are ye in earnest?" 
 
 "It's no' a thing I wud joke aboot," replied 
 the visitor, relieving himself rather violently of 
 some shreds of tobacco. 
 
 "But what way dae ye come to me ? I've never 
 pledged masel', though I'm for temperance in a' 
 shapes an' sizes. It's true I'm an abstainer, but, 
 unlike Timothy, I avoid wine for the sake o' 
 ma interior. Ma abstention is naething to ma
 
 THE PLEDGE 43 
 
 credit. If ye want to sign the pledge, John, ye 
 should gang to the meenister." 
 
 "I'm no' in wi' the meenister the noo," re- 
 turned Mr. Forgie, taking a third cigarette. "He 
 was awfu' snuffy aboot the account I sent him 
 for testin' his drains. He couldna see that their 
 bein' in guid order had done me oot o' a job." 
 
 "An honest plumber," observed Mr. Redhorn, 
 "is yin o' heaven's maist wondrous handiworks." 
 
 "If I was gaun to the meenister for to sign 
 the pledge," continued Mr. Forgie, ignoring the 
 remark, "he micht tak' it as a sort o' apology. 
 Besides it was ower later to gang there, an' as I 
 telPt ye, I'm off in the early boat to the city 
 wi' a' its temptations." 
 
 "I see," said the painter, more kindly than he 
 had yet spoken. "Weel, John, if it's to witness 
 yer signature, I'm ready. Ye're daein' a wise 
 thing, an' I'm sure ye'll never repent it." 
 
 "I hope no'. I cam' to ye because I ken ye're 
 a discreet sort o' chap " 
 
 "Ye can rely on ma discreetion. I confess it's 
 much the better part of valour in ma case. If 
 it hadna been for ma discreetion, I micht ha'e 
 been servin' ma country instead o' merely beau- 
 tifyin' it," said the painter modestly, and rose. 
 "Noo I'll provide pen, ink an' paper, an' then 
 we'll carry through the operation wi' the least 
 possible delay."
 
 44 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Mr. Forgie nodded, then sighed in a reflective 
 fashion. "I suppose," he said, in a far-away 
 voice, "it was the truth?" 
 
 "What ?" inquired the painter, setting out writ- 
 ing materials on the table. 
 
 "That ye've nae refreshment handy. It's gey 
 dry work signin' the pledge. I could dae wi' a 
 final, an' you could drink to ma keepin' the 
 pledge in water, if ye prefer it." 
 
 "Come, come, John!" the painter said good- 
 humouredly. "I can gi'e ye ma word of honour 
 there's no' a drap in the hoose. Besides, it's 
 better to dae the deed wi'oot ony artifeecial stim- 
 ulation. It's a deed to be done in cauld blood." 
 
 "So let it be!" said Mr. Forgie resignedly. 
 "You write oot the pledge, an' I'll sign it." 
 
 "I'll dae that." Mr. Redhorn seated himself 
 at the table and pressed the end of the penholder 
 against the point of his nose. "What am I to 
 say?" 
 
 "Dear knows." 
 
 "Ye leave the composeetion to me ? Vera well. 
 I'll dae ma best." 
 
 At the end of ten minutes Mr. Redhorn read 
 aloud the following: 
 
 "I, John Forgie, Plumber, of Fairport, being 
 of sound mind and sober, doth hereby promise, 
 in the presence of Joseph Redhorn, Painter, 
 Paperhanger and Decorator, also of Fairport, to
 
 THE PLEDGE 45 
 
 solemnly abstain now and for evermore from all 
 self-indulgence in all manner and species of in- 
 toxicating beverages, including Whisky, Brandy, 
 Beer, Rum, Port, Sherry, &c., &c., &c. Given 
 at Fairport on the 3rd day of March, 1913, A.D. 
 Witness my hand and seal. God save the King." 
 
 "Gosh!" exclaimed Mr. Forgie. "Am I to 
 sign that?" 
 
 "What's wrang wi' it?" 
 
 "Oh, naething naething! I'll no' deny ye've 
 the gift o' the gab, Ridhorn, but it's a fearsome 
 document." 
 
 "It's maybe no' the orthodox form o' pledge," 
 said the painter, "but I'll guarantee it leaves nae 
 loophole for escape. Are ye afraid to sign it?" 
 
 "N-na, I wudna say I was afraid. I could 
 ha'e done fine wi' a fareweel dr " 
 
 "Tits, man! Ye'll feel different when ye've 
 signed it. Come awa'! Here's the pen waitin' 
 for ye." 
 
 With a doubtful grunt, Mr. Forgie rose and 
 came to the table. 
 
 "That's where ye sign," said the painter en- 
 couragingly, indicating the place with the pen, 
 which he then handed to his visitor. 
 
 "I see ye've made a blot," remarked the latter. 
 
 "That," said the painter, somewhat nettled, 
 "represents yer seal. When ye've signed yer 
 name, ye touch it wi' yer finger "
 
 46 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Strikes me there's a queer lot o' hanky-panky 
 aboot this pledge," mumbled the other, as he 
 scratched his name. "But onything for peace," 
 he added, gingerly applying his forefinger to the 
 blot. 
 
 "That's capital !" cried Mr. Redhorn in a tone 
 of satisfaction, and seizing the pen, inscribed his 
 name as witness. Then, having carefully dried 
 the signatures with a scrap of blotting-paper in 
 the last stage of dissolution, he folded the docu- 
 ment, and 
 
 "Here!" exclaimed Mr. Forgie. "Are you 
 gaun to keep it?" 
 
 "Certainly ! It'll be preserved among the arch- 
 ives o' the Hoose sich as it is o' Ridhorn." 
 With these words Mr. Redhorn conveyed the 
 document to the cupboard wherein he kept his 
 cashbox and business papers. "Ye're pledge'll 
 be safe here," he added kindly, "an' you, John, 
 '11 be safe wherever ye gang." 
 
 Mr. Forgie rose and returned to the easy- 
 chair. "I've done it noo !" he sighed, and helped 
 himself to the last of the cigarettes. 
 
 The host winced, but said mildly enough: 
 
 "They say that virtue is its ain reward, but 
 I hope ye'll be luckier in that respec' nor I've 
 ever been. I think I may prophesy that ye'll 
 sune be able to contemplate an improvin' bank 
 account; an' while ye may ha'e to gang to bed
 
 THE PLEDGE 47 
 
 feelin' less glorious nor in the past, ye'll rise in 
 the mornin' less gloomy. Moreover " 
 
 "Man, ye're a spokesman!" interrupted the 
 visitor, yawning and getting up. "Weel, I'm no 
 sorry I signed it yet." 
 
 "Ye'll never be sorry," said Mr. Redhorn, 
 coming back to the hearth. "Ye see, John, if 
 ye was gettin' a wife I beg yer pardon," he 
 apologised in haste, for the fat, foolish, kindly 
 face had gone scarlet. 
 
 "Haw, haw !" Mr. Forgie laughed awkwardly. 
 "What wud I dae wi' a wife? What put that 
 into yer heid, Ridhorn?" 
 
 "Aw, I shouldna ha'e mentioned sic a thing," 
 said the painter, bashfully. "But ye maun ex- 
 cuse me for no' bein' blin' to the fac' that a cer- 
 tain lady, wha shall be nameless, has recently 
 been receivin' the attentions o' a certain gentle- 
 man wha shall likewise be minus a cognomen." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "Aw, ye ken what I mean," said Mr. Redhorn 
 pleasantly. "An' I'm sure ye ha'e ma best wishes 
 in yer amorous pursuit." 
 
 "Thenk ye, thenk ye !" murmured Mr. Forgie, 
 still blushing profusely. "I'm sure I never 
 thought ye guessed onything, but seein' ye've 
 done it, I'll ask anither favour o' ye. If ye 
 should happen to see her the morn, casual-like, 
 I wish ye wud mention to her that I've signed
 
 48 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 the pledge. To tell ye the plain truth, it was 
 her that got me to dae it. She said But never 
 heed about that the noo. Will ye tell her, if 
 ye see her?" 
 
 "I'll mak' a p'int o' seem' her," was the warm 
 reply. "Depend on me! It is is it ower early 
 for congratulations, etceetera?" 
 
 "Ay, it's a wee thing early yet. I'm greatly 
 obleeged to ye. But ye'll no' mention it to ony- 
 body but her eh ?" 
 
 "As heaven is ma witness," declared the 
 painter, who was not a little excited, "I'll no' 
 breathe it to a livin' soul excep' her." 
 
 "Thenk ye. ... Weel, I'll awa' hame to ma 
 bed. I could ha'e done fine wi' a " 
 
 "Listen, John! If at ony time ye are tor- 
 mented by a consumin' thirst, jist drap in here. 
 I'll ha'e a bottle o' ginger wine ready. It's no' 
 a beverage that induces ye to sing, dance, or 
 break windows, but it's cosy on the interior an' 
 is said to promote digeestion. So mind that, 
 John, an' come when the spirit moves ye." 
 
 Once more the visitor expressed gratitude, 
 and having again received the painter's assurance 
 of secrecy, took his departure. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn went to bed, tired but unwont- 
 edly happy. It is true that until this evening 
 he had been quite unaffected one way or another 
 by the existence of John Forgie. It is equally
 
 THE PLEDGE 49 
 
 true, however, that he would have done as much 
 for any other man who happened to need a help- 
 ing hand. 
 
 Fairport was eating its midday meal when 
 Mr. Redhorn kept his promise to Mr. Forgie. 
 The lady dwelt in a trim two-roomed cottage, 
 a furlong beyond the village, wherein she plied 
 the genteel trade of dressmaking with moderate 
 satisfaction to her customers and no great profit 
 to herself. 
 
 Until a few weeks ago her living had been 
 entirely dependent on the work of her hands, 
 and no one doubted that she had difficulty in 
 making ends meet. Happily this was no longer 
 so. The timely death of a relative in Canada 
 had endowed her with a sum of money, the in- 
 terest on which, as variously calculated by her 
 neighbours, would amount to something between 
 one hundred and one hundred and fifty pounds 
 a year. A month of comfort, physical and men- 
 tal, had removed the harassed expression from 
 her wizened, homely countenance; she no longer 
 looked much more than her age, which was forty- 
 three. To Mr. Redhorn, however, she, standing 
 in her doorway, appeared the same as ever, for 
 it is to be remembered that he and she were as 
 strange to each other as two people in a small 
 community like Fairport may be. A passing sal-
 
 50 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 utation on the road, a bow on entering or leaving 
 church such was the extent of their 'acquaint- 
 anceship. 
 
 Having remarked that it was a fine day, and 
 having received a solemn assent, Mr. Redhorn 
 proceeded without delay to fulfil his mission. 
 
 "Miss Thomson," he said, "I ha'e called to 
 inform ye that our mutual frien' John Forgie 
 duly signed the pledge in ma presence, at eleeven 
 o'clock or thereaboots, last nicht. Bein' boun' 
 for Glesca the day, he deputed me to advise ye 
 privately o' the fac'. I I hope ye feel grati- 
 fied." 
 
 "I'm gled to hear it," Miss Thomson replied, 
 more calmly than the painter had anticipated. 
 "I've been at him to sign it for a while back. 
 I hope he'll keep it." 
 
 "Oh, I can assure ye there's nae escape frae 
 the document he signed last nicht," said Mr. 
 Redhorn earnestly. 
 
 "Weel, I'm obleeged to ye," she returned. 
 "But I wasna aweer that you was a reformer, 
 Maister Ridhorn. Are ye pledged yersel'?" 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 "Because, if ye're no', I'll be pleased to re- 
 ceive yer pledge, though, as a rule, I prefer to 
 send ma reformed characters to the meenister." 
 
 It must be confessed that Mr. Redhorn simply 
 gaped.
 
 THE PLEDGE 51 
 
 "Even if ye're no' in the habit o' drinkin', 
 ye'll be safer when ye've ta'en the pledge," she 
 continued. "I've aye understood ye to be a sober 
 man, Maister Ridhorn, but even at your time o' 
 life ye canna tell what temptations are afore ye. 
 It's no' lang since I read aboot the case o' a man 
 that fell for the first time at the age o' eighty- 
 five. Ye'll maybe no' live as long as that; 
 still" 
 
 "Excuse me for interruptm' ye," said the 
 painter, pulling his wits and dignity together. 
 "I've naething to say against the pledge for them 
 that needs it, but for me it wud be a pure re- 
 dundancy. The details o' ma complaint dys- 
 peepsia arena c'h'ice enough for female ears, 
 but I may tell ye in confidence that the flowin' 
 bowl can never ha'e charms for me." 
 
 "Ye micht get better o' yer complaint," said 
 Miss Thomson, in a tone that sounded heartless 
 to the painter. 
 
 "In the event o' sich a miracle takin' place," 
 he returned almost sharply, "I wud feel justified 
 in drainin' a bumper to the man or medicine that 
 cured me." 
 
 Miss Thomson shook her head. 
 
 "I didna think ye was a man o' levity," she 
 sighed. 
 
 "Weel, I didna come here to hurt yer feelin's, 
 he said gently, "nr to discuss masel', either. If
 
 52 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 there's ony answer, I'll be pleased to convey it 
 to him when he comes off the evenin' boat." 
 
 "Oh, ye can say I'm exceedin'ly pleased at 
 what he's done," she said, adding, as though it 
 was an afterthought: "An' ye can tell him he 
 needna trouble to call the nicht, because I'll ha'e 
 anither veesitor." 
 
 "Yer instructions'll ha'e ma best attention," 
 Mr. Redhorn replied. He touched his hat, and 
 left her looking rather wistfully after him. 
 
 As he passed down the path leading to the 
 main road, he felt depressed. 
 
 "She doesna seem," he reflected, "to be pas- 
 sionately attached to him. . . . But maybe 
 she's coy." 
 
 Turning into the road, he encountered Danks, 
 the fishmonger. 
 
 "Weel, Ridhorn," said that worthy, "has she 
 got ye to sign the pledge?" 
 
 The painter was taken aback, but managed to 
 reply 
 
 "Whether she has or no', Danks, we'll no' 
 laugh at her." 
 
 "I'm thinkin' the laugh's on her side. D'ye 
 ken hoo mony men she's got to sign the pledge, 
 since she cam' into 'her money? Nine! An' 
 every man o' them is a bachelor, excep' yin that's 
 a widower. An' nane o' them was ever a hard 
 drinker; some was practically teetotal."
 
 THE PLEDGE 53 
 
 "Criftens!" the painter ejaculated. 
 
 Banks grinned. 
 
 "An' each man o' the nine or is it ten, Rid- 
 horn? thinks he's gaun to marry her an' her 
 siller ! Gor ! it's a queer world." He passed on, 
 leaving the painter dazed. 
 
 Mr. Forgie disembarked from the evening 
 steamer without that glassiness of eye which 
 usually distinguished him immediately after a 
 trip to the city. At the same time he looked far 
 from cheerful, and expressed himself to Mr. 
 Redhorn as being "fair meeserable." 
 
 "Never heed, John," said the painter comfort- 
 ingly, as they left the pier. "Ye'll sune get used 
 to it. Temperance, like mony anither guid thing, 
 is an acquired taste." 
 
 "I believe ye!" returned the novice bitterly. 
 "Weel, did ye see her?" It was the question 
 Mr. Redhorn had been dreading all the after- 
 noon. 
 
 "I did. She was exceedin'ly gratified." 
 
 "Was she? Did she say onything else?" 
 
 "N-naething special, excep' that ye wasna to 
 trouble to call on her the nicht, because she wud 
 be ha'ein' a veesitor." 
 
 "Aw !" muttered the little man. 
 
 "I ha'ena had ma tea yet," said Mr. Redhorn 
 hastily. "I'll be gled if ye'll jine me."
 
 54 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Mr. Forgie's acceptance of the invitation was 
 more ready than gracious. 
 
 "I got in a bottle of ginger wine for ye." 
 
 Mr. Forgie groaned. "I tried a gless in the 
 city. Thon's a terrible drink." 
 
 "Maybe ye didna get the best vintage," said 
 the painter pleasantly, despite his wounded feel- 
 ings. "A great deal depends on the vintage. 
 Wait till ye sample mine's. I think I'll gi'e ye 
 a stiff gless in bilin' water. The fumes alane 
 are invigoratin'. By the way, I hope ye're partial 
 to tinned sawmon, John, because I got in a tin 
 for oor tea." 
 
 Apparently Mr. Forgie's feelings were not 
 altogether invulnerable. 
 
 "My ! ye're a dacent sort o' chap, Ridhorn !" 
 he said. "I can shift tinned sawmon wi' ony 
 man in Fairport." 
 
 "That's fine!" said the painter, opening the 
 door of his abode. 
 
 Whether the change was due to the tinned 
 salmon, or to the ginger wine, or to both, is 
 immaterial, since the fact remains that the guest 
 grew brighter as the night waxed older. By ten 
 o'clock hope was in full bloom. 
 
 Mr. Forgie nodded blithely over his reeking
 
 THE PLEDGE 55 
 
 tumbler, which his host had just charged for the 
 fourth time. 
 
 "Here's to ye, Ridhorn ! But ye're no' drinkin' 
 yersel'." 
 
 "I've got to be abstemious, even wi' ginger 
 wine," the painter replied. "But I'm gled ye find 
 it palatable, John." 
 
 "Aw, it's no* so bad if ye tak' plenty," said 
 Mr. Forgie, after a generous gulp. "I'll help 
 masel' to anither o' yer ceegarettes, if ye've nae 
 objections," he went on, suiting the action to the 
 words. "On the whole, Ridhorn, I feel inclined 
 to hope for the best wi' regard to to her. D'ye 
 no' agree wi' me?" 
 
 " 'Nil desperandum' is a fine motto as larig as 
 ye're no' bettin' on horses or dealin' in stocks. 
 An' it's no' as if ye had proposed an' she had 
 rejected yer suit " 
 
 "But I ha'e proposed." Mr. Forgie wiped his 
 brow, and went red in the face. "Ach, I better 
 tell ye a' aboot it," he said, laughing feebly. "I 
 proposed last nicht, an' she said she wud need 
 a month to conseeder it. Of course, she couldna 
 conseeder it at a' unless I signed the pledge, for 
 she said she could never respec' ony man that 
 hadna signed it. That's the poseetion, pure an' 
 simple." 
 
 "So ye'll no' ken for a month?" Mr. Red- 
 horn's glance strayed from his guest to the de-
 
 56 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 pleted bottle, and thence to the clock. Then he 
 pulled himself together. "Weel, ma best wishes 
 are yours, John," he said kindly. 
 
 Mr. Forgie drew a long breath, and his coun- 
 tenance grew rosier than ever. 
 
 "I wud like ye to understan', Ridhorn," he 
 said, eyeing his cigarette, "that I'm no' courtin' 
 her for her siller alane." 
 
 The painter's soul was touched. "Ye're a 
 noble character!" he exclaimed and held out his 
 hand. 
 
 The other took it with a sigh. "I'm afraid 
 I'm no' exactly that," he said modestly, "for, to 
 tell ye the truth, it was the siller that catched 
 me to begin wi'. But when I seen her takin' 
 sic an interest in ma ma behaviour, an' so forth, 
 I began to feel different. In fac', I wud marry 
 her if she hadna a penny. Trade's no' half bad 
 the noo." And Mr. Forgie buried his nose in his 
 tumbler. 
 
 "Spoke like a man!" cried Mr. Redhorn: 
 "Forby bein' a noble character, ye're in ma 
 opeenion a maist deservin' suitor. Could ye eat 
 a bit toasted cheese, jist to feenish off the 
 evenin' ?" 
 
 "I could!" was the ready reply.
 
 THE PLEDGE 57 
 
 It was after midnight when Mr. Redhorn 
 found himself free to go to bed. 
 
 "This wudna need to happen every nicht," he 
 told himself as he blew out the candle. "I wudna 
 like to see Forgie dae a backslide, but a week o' 
 similar dissipation wud leave me a corp." 
 
 Nevertheless at the end of a month, nearly 
 every night of which had meant a late sitting, 
 Mr. Redhorn was still faithful to his self-imposed 
 trust. It is true that he was afflicted with a 
 feeling of "general debility," and was disposed 
 to yawn at all hours of the day; but if his flesh 
 was weak, his strength of spirit was surely 
 proved by the fact that he had "laid doon," as 
 he somewhat grandiloquently expressed it, a 
 third dozen of ginger wine. 
 
 And so we come to that evening which Mr. 
 Redhorn, in a bright outburst, described as 
 "maybe the last o' a series o' ambrosial sympo- 
 siums." 
 
 "Ye can ca' them what ye like, Joseph," said 
 the guest with unusual warmth, "but I'll never 
 forget them, nor you, either. Ye've been a guid, 
 solid frien' to me; an' if it was her that got me 
 to sign the pledge, it's been you that has made 
 me keep it. That's flat !" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn blew his nose. It was one of 
 the happiest and proudest moments of his life. 
 "I think I micht risk a second gless the nicht,"
 
 58 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 he said softly, uncorking the bottle. "An' so 
 ye're feelin' quite hopeful aboot the morrow, 
 John? Eh?" 
 
 "I'm no despairin', onyway. Ye see, when I've 
 been seem' her lately, I've aye reminded her o' 
 the date, an' every time I've done that she's been 
 mair an' mair " Mr. Forgie paused and 
 scratched his head. 
 
 "Coy," suggested the painter. "I believe coy- 
 ness is conseedered a favourable symptom by 
 ardent suitiors." 
 
 "Maybe it was coy. At ony rate, she didna 
 seem able to look me in the face, an' it used to 
 be the ither way aboot." 
 
 "It soun's promisin', John, it soun's promisin'. 
 . . . Weel, I hope I'll be the first to hear the 
 joyful' news the morn's nicht." 
 
 "Ye can coont on that, Joseph! I doobt 
 it'll mean anither symphonium, or whatever ye 
 ca' it," the little man laughed, as he presented 
 his empty tumbler. "Oh, ay, I'm no* dis- 
 pairin'!" 
 
 On the following afternoon Mr. Redhorn 
 found it necessary to make inquiries of the pier- 
 master concerning the non-arrival of certain 
 paints, of the despatch of which he had received 
 notice by the morning post. When he reached 
 the pier the steamer for the city was approach-
 
 THE PLEDGE 59 
 
 ing, and the piermaster requested him to wait 
 until her departure. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, having nothing better to do, 
 strolled up the pier. As usual, there were few 
 travellers, and, with one exception, they did not 
 interest the painter. The exception was Miss 
 Thomson. Somehow he started at the sight of 
 her. Perhaps she started, though less obviously, 
 at the sight of him. But the head of a little pier 
 like Fairport's is not the place for people who 
 wish to avoid each other. 
 
 "Fine day at least it was in the mornin' 
 remarked Mr. Redhorn, touching his hat. "Are 
 ye for an hour on the ither side, Miss Thomson ?" 
 She had seemed quite a terrible person a month 
 ago, but now she struck him as being merely 
 pathetic. "This is a handy boat if ye want to 
 dae a bit shoppin' an' be hame for tea," he 
 added. 
 
 "Ay," she murmured, and glanced furtively 
 shorewards. "Maister Ridhorn," she whispered 
 abruptly, rt l wish ye wud dae me a favour." 
 
 "Surely Ha'e ye forgot yer purse?" 
 
 She shook her head. "Try and get John Forgie 
 to keep the pledge," she said. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "Because because I'm no' comin' back to 
 Fairport." 
 
 The steamer came alongside. The end of
 
 line struck Mr. Redhorn on the shoulder. He 
 did not seem to notice it. 
 
 "Ye're no' comin' back to Fairport!" he re- 
 peated slowly, wonderingly. 
 
 "Ma luggage is a' packed, an' it'll follow me 
 the morn. I'm sellin' ma furniture. I I'm 
 leavin' quiet-like. It seemed the best way." She 
 paused. Apparently, Mr. Redhorn had nothing 
 to say. He was stroking his nose. 
 
 She checked a sob, and continued : I've bought 
 a wee business in Glesca baby-linen an' the like. 
 I've been bargainin' for it for ower a month." 
 
 The steamer was warped; the gangway clat- 
 tered aboard. 
 
 Still Mr. Redhorn said nothing. 
 
 "I I wanted to dae some guid in Fairport 
 afore I left," she said; and now the tears were 
 running. "I got twelve to tak' the pledge." For 
 an instant she lifted her head defiantly. "I wish 
 you had been the thirteenth, but it's no' ower 
 late yet." She fumbled for her handkerchief. 
 "But ye'll look efter John Forgie promise, 
 Maister Ridhorn! for he was the worst o' the 
 lot." 
 
 The painter found his voice. "Did ye did 
 ye no' care tuppence for John or ony o' them ?" 
 
 S'he reddened painfully, yet there were rem- 
 nants of the defiance in her breaking voice. "I
 
 THE PLEDGE 61 
 
 did the best I could for them a'. I wanted to 
 dae some guid " 
 
 "Are ye gaun wi' the boat, Miss Thomson?" 
 It was the piermaster's voice. "Time's up." 
 
 She turned and fled across the gangway, across 
 the deck, and down the companion. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, forgetting his appointment with 
 the piermaster, went the way he had come. 
 
 "Puir thing !" he said to himself. "But she's 
 got a unique conscience." 
 
 And then he thought of John Forgie, and was 
 smitten with fear and trembling, not without 
 reason. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "I'm sayin' I want back ma pledge !" The little 
 man was half crazy. 
 
 "Sit doon, John, sit doon," said Mr. Redhorn, 
 soothingly. "Ha'e ye had yer tea?" 
 
 "To blazes wi' tea ! I want beer !" 
 
 "Sit doon an' tell me yer story." 
 
 "Ye ken it as weel as I dae. I've been 
 diddled that's a'!" 
 
 "Weel, tak' it like a man/' 
 
 "I intend for to tak' it like the ither men she's 
 diddled. They're a' in the beer shop noo every 
 man jack o' them!" 
 
 "Ha'e they a' been to the meenister to get 
 back their pledges?" 
 
 "Their pledges was got under fause pretences.
 
 62 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Their pledges is waste paper that's what they 
 say." 
 
 "Then yours'll be waste paper likewise, eh?" 
 
 "Maybe. But I canna I canna " Mr. For- 
 gie's hand went to his unintellectual brow. 
 
 "Sit doon, man," said the painter softly, and 
 pressed him into the easy-chair. "See smoke a 
 ceegarette here's matches till I get the tea 
 ready. I ha'ena had mine's yet. I was waitin' 
 for you, John. There's a nice bit o' corned 
 beef an' plenty of mustard. . . . Will ye try 
 a drap o' ginger wine to begin wi' ? It'll maybe 
 stimulate yer appetite." 
 
 Mr. Forgie shook his head, and waved away 
 the cigarettes and matches. 
 
 "What for should I keep the teetotal noo?" 
 he asked sullenly. 
 
 For several seconds Mr. Redforn stroked his 
 nose. "Weel," he began slowly, "there's sundry 
 reasons. First, ye've kep' it for a month. Sec- 
 ondly, there's nae credit in bein' a relapsed mass. 
 Thirdly, in ma opeenion, it's the only way to 
 prove to the public o' Fairport that ye ha'ena 
 been diddled." 
 
 "Eh? Hoo d'ye mak' that oot?" 
 
 "Because, if ye keep yer pledge, the public'll 
 naturally asshume that ye took it oreeginally for 
 yer ain pleasure an' satisfaction." 
 
 "Oh!"
 
 THE PLEDGE 63 
 
 "I may say that I'm ready to drap a hint here 
 an' there to that effec'. I dinna ask ye," the 
 painter continued, "to conseeder ma feelin's in 
 the matter, Jo'hn. If ye demanded back the 
 pledge, I wud jist ha'e to gi'e ye back yer ain 
 property. An' then it wud be me that had been 
 diddled." 
 
 "Na, na!" 
 
 "But ay ! At least, that's the way I wud feel 
 aboot it. It's true that I had naething to dae 
 wi' hoistin' the flag o' temperance, so to speak, 
 but" 
 
 "But by Go !" suddenly cried the little man, "ye 
 kep' it flyin'!" 
 
 "I didna mean that. Naebody could ha'e done 
 that but yersel'. I was gaun to say I wud be 
 vexed to se eit hauled doon noo." Mr. Red- 
 horn laid a 'hand on the other's shoulder. "I 
 wud like to think," he said heavily, "that there 
 was one man in the dizzen that courted her." 
 
 There was a silence. Doubtless the picture 
 then of these two middle-aged men the long, 
 melancholy visage, the fat, foolish, kindly coun- 
 tenance was more odd than impressive; but 
 we can't all look like 'heroes in our hours of 
 crisis. 
 
 "Joseph," said Mr. Forgie huskily, "I'll tak' 
 the ginger wine neat."
 
 64 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 The painter, his face illuminated, fetched a 
 brimming glass. 
 
 "Here's to ye, Joseph !" Mr. Forgie gulped 
 half of the stuff and puffed. 
 
 "John," said the host, with much diffidence, 
 "could ye no' drink the rest to her ? She meant 
 weel." 
 
 The little man's lips came together, and an 
 angry colour suffused his face. 
 
 "I admit there's nae justifyin' her methods," 
 Mr. Redhorn went on, "an* if ye was wantin' 
 revenge, it could be easily managed, for she 
 thinks she's left a dizzen reformed characters 
 in Fairport. But if there's ony person been badly 
 diddled in the affair, it's her, puir thing John, 
 ye can afford to drink her health in silence, if 
 ye prefer/' The painter turned to the fire, for 
 the kettle was boiling. 
 
 Shamefacedly the little man emptied the 
 glass.
 
 IV 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 
 
 WHEN the door had closed on the 
 bringer of ill-tidings, Mr. Redhorn re- 
 seated himself at the table, smoothed 
 his remaining hairs with an unsteady palm, 
 sighed, and turned to his apprentice, whom he 
 'happened to be entertaining to tea. 
 
 "Proceed wi' yer eatin', laddie," he said kindly. 
 "Tak' plenty jam. When ye're young ye maun 
 pey attention to yer inside, whatever happens. 
 As for me, I'll try a ceegarette, though I doobt 
 it's a dooble dose o' the Elixir I'm requirin'." 
 
 "I wish Banks was deid !" the boy cried hotly. 
 "I wish he was 
 
 "Na, na; ye maunna wish that aboot onybody, 
 Wullie. He was boun' to hear the bad news 
 suner or later " 
 
 "But it was the way he tell't ye it." 
 
 "Ay, ay" Mr. Redhorn produced a cigarette 
 from a packet "it was the way he tell't me. 
 I confess to bilin' inwardly masel', though I trust 
 I didna betray ma feelin's. But, ye see, Banks 
 has never got ower his spite at me for no' takin' 
 65
 
 66 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 his nephew for ma apprentice instead o' yersel'. 
 Moreover, he was aye cauld-heartit, like the fish 
 he sells. Oh, ay, he was rale delighted to be the 
 bearer o' the bad news. It's a curious thing," 
 the painter continued, reflectively, "hoo humanity 
 delights in inhumanity on what I micht ca' a 
 sma' scale. It doesna rej'ice in a railway acci- 
 dent, but it likes fine to behold a man tummle 
 on a slide; it doesna cry 'hurray!' when a bank 
 breaks, but, apparently, it canna keep back a 
 bit snicker when it sees a neighbour lossin' 
 money. An' it hasna aye the excuse Danks has 
 for rej'icin' at ma misfortune." 
 
 "What excuse has Danks, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 inquired Willie, still flushed, reaching for the 
 jam-pot. 
 
 "I've jist been tellin' ye." The bachelor 
 struck a match, applied it cautionsly to his cigar- 
 ette, coughed violently, and wiped his faded blue 
 eyes. "I wish I had never startit the smokin', 
 Wullie," he resumed; "but I was tell't it was 
 soothin' to the nerves. Strikes me I micht as 
 weel try it for ma chilblains." He took a puff 
 or two. "Nevertheless, Danks is a cruel enemy. 
 If I was a blackamoor that believed in the trans- 
 figuration o' souls, I wud say Danks was oree- 
 ginally a finnan haddie. But there's nae use 
 talkin' aboot it, Wullie. We'll jist ha'e to try 
 an' bear it."
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 67 
 
 "Ay," said Willie, "but what are ye gaun to 
 dae aboot the opposeetion, when it comes?" 
 
 "Ye've a practical mind, ma lad. Whiles I 
 doobt mine's is becomin' ower pheelosophical. 
 Yer question is to the p'int, though it's maybe 
 a wee thing previous. What wud you advise 
 me to dae aboot the opposeetion when it 
 comes ?" 
 
 "Burst it," was the prompt reply. 
 
 "That wud be exceedin' excellent advice if the 
 opposeetion was appearin' in the shape of a bal- 
 loon; but as it happens to assume the form o' 
 a human bein' conseederably younger nor masel' 
 an', accordin' to Danks, supplied wi' plenty o' 
 capital, I canna but feel that ye spoke hasty " 
 
 "I meant that ye could keep on daein' jobs 
 cheaper nor the opposeetion man till ye burst 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. "It's a guid 
 thing ye're gaun to be a penter, Wullie, or ye 
 micht live to be what they ca' a high feenancier. 
 But I may tell ye I've been the sole penter, 
 paperhanger an' decorator in Fairport for up- 
 wards o' thirty year, an weel, I ha'ena made 
 a fortune. An' though ye're but an apprentice 
 in the first blush o' youth, as the novelles say, 
 ye ken as weel as I dae that there's no' enough 
 business in Fairport to keep two penters busy." 
 
 "Maybe the folk'll no' gang to the opposeetion
 
 68 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 man," said Willie. "It's likely they'll stick to 
 you." 
 
 The painter sighed. "When ye're as auld as 
 me ye'll ken mair aboot the flightiness o' the 
 public. Changes are lichtsome. The new s'hop 
 aye gets custom maybe no' enough to mak' it 
 prosper, but suffeecient to hurt the auld shop, 
 if no' to ruin it completely." 
 
 "But ye'll no' let the opposeetion man burst 
 ye ?" the boy exclaimed. " I meant for to say " 
 
 "That'll dae, Wullie, that'll dae. I'm no' in 
 the habit o' meetin' trouble hauf -roads unless 
 the trouble happens to be dyspeepsia," with 
 which remark Mr. Redhorn rose, and taking the 
 bottle of "Elixir" from the mantel-piece, re- 
 moved the cork and helped himself to a mouth- 
 ful. "Ay," he went on with sundry grimaces, 
 "we'll see what the public o' Fairport is 
 made o'." 
 
 "But what'll ye dae when ye see the oppo- 
 seetion man?" persisted the apprentice. 
 
 "An* what wud you ha'e me dae ?" the painter 
 asked a little impatiently. "Pit oot ma tongue 
 at him?" 
 
 "I'll dae that if ye like, Maister Ridhorn; but 
 I wud suner hand him a bat on the nose, or 
 knock him ower the pierheid, an' " 
 
 "Wullie," said Mr. Redhorn impressively, 
 "politeness costs naething in cash, at ony rate.
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 69 
 
 When the man starts business here the eye o' 
 Fairport'll be on you an' me as weel. Mind that ! 
 Be dignified, be discreet. Conceal yer feelin's 
 o' righteous indignation. Pay attention to yer 
 job, whatever it happens to be, as if naething 
 extraor'nar was occurrin'. In ither words, let 
 Fairport see that we dinna care a fig help 
 yersel' to jam, laddie for a' the opposeetion in 
 the world!" 
 
 Presently Willie having finished his repast, re- 
 marked: "They say Maister Hood up the hill 
 is for gettin' his hoose pentit sune. Ye should 
 hurry up and get the order afore " 
 
 "I think we'll leave Maister Hood to the oppo- 
 seetion," Mr. Redhorn interrupted, with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 "What way that?" 
 
 "Weel, ye see, Wullie, Maister Hood, as ye 
 may learn frae ma ledger, which is a record o' 
 disapp'intments, tak's frae twa an' a hauf to 
 three years' credit. Efter a', there's a few cus- 
 tomers I wudna grudge to the opposeetion." 
 
 " 'Deed, ye're fly !" 
 
 "I wud prefer ye to use the word 'discreet/ 
 ma lad. Noo ye best rin hame an' see if ye 
 canna dae anything to help yer mither. See an' 
 be at yer work prompt to time in the mornin', 
 an' no' gi'e Fairport ony excuse for complaints."
 
 70 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "But ye're no' feart for the opposeetion, are 
 ye?" said Willie, taking up his cap. 
 
 "Dae I look feart?" demanded the painter. 
 
 "N-na," Willie replied, from the door. "No' 
 exac'ly feart. Maybe it's yer dyspeepsia. I hope 
 it'll sune be better. Guid nicht, Maister Rid- 
 horn." 
 
 "Guid nicht, laddie." Mr. Redhorn stroked 
 his nose. "Am I feart ?" he muttered. "Or is't 
 ma face?" 
 
 The Opposition Man had made his preliminary 
 visits to Fairport incog.; he had spied the land 
 without proclaiming his intentions to any of the 
 inhabitants, whom, as a matter of fact, he misled 
 by certain actions into taking him for an in- 
 spector of telegraph poles. It was not until he 
 had rented a cottage on the shore and instructed 
 the local joiner to erect a wooden workship that 
 the truth so disturbing to Mr. Redhorn, so grati- 
 fying to Mr. Danks, became known. Mr. Red- 
 horn, being the sort of man who does not be- 
 come popular until death has covered a few 
 little weaknesses and uncovered many good 
 deeds, was not an object for the united sympathy 
 of the villagers and owners of villas in the 
 vicinity. People began to remember his failings, 
 his sins of omission and commission. Some ex- 
 pressed the opinion that the opposition would
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 71 
 
 serve him right, others the pious hope that it 
 might improve the quality of his workmanship 
 and materials. 
 
 "It'll maybe learn him to feenish his jobs when 
 he says he'll feenish them," said old Miss Mc- 
 Phun, who for seven weary years had been 
 disputing the correctness of an account for 
 painting a hen-house. 
 
 "Ay," said her neighbour, Mrs. Dory, whose 
 husband had once been offended- by Mr. Red- 
 horn's refusal to accept cabbages instead of cash 
 for the varnishing of a dinghy. " was hearin' 
 that the opposeetion man is frae the toon, so he'll 
 be smart an' up-to-date, as they say. Ridhorn'll 
 ha'e to look slippy if he doesna want to loss 
 custom." 
 
 The village was full of rumours. The new 
 man was "backed" by a powerful firm in the 
 city; he was determined to capture the painting 
 trade of Fairport; already he had secured the 
 contract for painting the pier; sooner or later 
 he would buy out Joseph Redhorn. As for Red- 
 horn, he was thinking of retiring; he would re- 
 tire at the end of the year; he had decided to 
 retire forthwith; he had declared his intention 
 of fighting to his last penny. And so on. Willie 
 reported all he heard to his master, who looked 
 angry or miserable or impatient, but for the most 
 part held his tongue. The opposition was cast-
 
 72 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 ing its shadow before. Already Mr. Redhorn 
 was disappointed by several old customers on 
 whose patronage he reckoned at that time of the 
 year. It was plain to him that those people were 
 waiting to see what the new painter was like. 
 ***** 
 
 On the first of March the local postman de- 
 livered to most of the inhabitants of Fairport 
 envelopes bearing half-penny stamps and a city 
 postmark. The envelopes contained squares of 
 glossy pink paper, printed in seven styles of type 
 as follows 
 
 P. Smith 
 Respectfully begs to intimate to 
 
 The Residents in Fairport 
 
 And the Surrounding District 
 
 That he is commencing Business 
 
 as 
 Painter, Paper-hanger and Decorator 
 
 and trusts 
 
 To be favoured with their esteemed 
 
 Commands 
 
 P. Smith's 
 
 Motto is 
 
 Punctuality, Promptitude and Perfection. 
 
 Willie's mother having received a copy, the 
 boy took it along to his master, who chanced to 
 be painting a summer-house. After a prolonged 
 inspection Mr. Redhorn carefully folded and re- 
 turned it.
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 73 
 
 "Wullie," he said slowly, "I've nae fault to 
 find wi' the language o' Maister P. Smith, an' 
 his motto is unreproachable. But the man that 
 sends oot a circular on paper like that has nae 
 mair artistic feelin's nor a plumber." 
 
 "I thought it was a pretty colour, Maister 
 Ridhorn." 
 
 "Ay; it's vera suitable for a sweetie-poke or 
 a love letter. But ye're young yet, laddie. I'm 
 no' blamin' ye. I've made blunders in ma time. 
 I mind when I papered a parlor a vera pale 
 yella for a leddy wi' a rid nose " 
 
 "But what kin' o' paper wud ye pit on for a 
 leddy wi' a rid nose?" inquired Willie, with gen- 
 uine interest. 
 
 "A rich crimson wi' a decided pattern," re- 
 plied Mr. Redhorn gravely. "Aye try to study 
 yer customers. In the meantime pay attention to 
 yer pentin'." 
 
 Two days later, on a wet and windy afternoon, 
 arrived Mr. P. Smith, a youngish man with a 
 neat moustache, alert eyes and a jaunty step. His 
 progress from the pier was witnessed by the bulk 
 of Fairport's population. Mr. Redhorn, how- 
 ever, remained in his workshop, pretending to 
 mix a supply of paint which he had no immediate 
 occasion to use.
 
 74 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 To him came the apprentice panting "I seen 
 him, Maister Ridhorn, I seen him !" 
 
 "Seen wha?" 
 
 "The opposeetion. He's jist come off the 
 boat!" 
 
 "Did ye expec' him to come off an airyplane ?" 
 
 Willie looked hurt. "I ran to tell ye as hard 
 as I could," he protested. 
 
 "Thenk ye, laddie." Mr. Redhorn's expres- 
 sion lost some of its stiffness. "Thenk ye; but 
 I'm no' deeply interrested in the advent o' P. 
 Smith, Esquire, penter, paperhanger an' deco- 
 rator." 
 
 "I thought ye was." 
 
 "Did ye?" 
 
 Willie glanced at his master and went over to 
 the bench at the far end of the shop, where he 
 began playing with a lump of putty. 
 
 At the end of a three minutes' silence, Mr. 
 Redhorn, in a voice strange to his apprentice 
 said: 
 
 "Wullie, mark ma words, I'm no gaun to lie 
 doon to ony man in the pentin' trade. An', in 
 the language o' yersel', I'm gaun to burst P. 
 Smith inside o' a couple o' years !" 
 
 "My!" exclaimed Willie. 
 
 "What's the man like?" said Mr. Redhorn 
 coldly.
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 75 
 
 "I didna see him extra weel. He was carryin' 
 a baby." 
 
 "Ay. Did ye no' hear he had a wife an' five 
 
 "A baby!" 
 
 "Ay. So was his wife." 
 
 "His wile!" 
 weans, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "Five weans!" 
 
 "Maybe it's six." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn let go the stick with which he 
 had been stirring the paint. He smoothed his 
 hair; he stroked his nose. "Five weans!" he 
 murmured. 
 
 "Peter Shaw said he coonted six." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn did not seem to hear. After a 
 longish silence he said 
 
 "Wullie, there's naething daein' the day, so ye 
 best awa' an' amuse yersel'." 
 
 "Wud ye no' like me to gang an' see hoo the 
 opposeetion's gettin' on? His furniture's got 
 soaked wi' the rain, an' I heard three o' his 
 weans was sea-seeck on the boat." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn looked at his apprentice. "Jist 
 you gang hame an' tell that to yer mither, an* 
 see what she says," he said gently. 
 
 When Willie 'had gone he resumed stirring the 
 paint. 
 
 "Five weans!" he murmured. "Criftens! 
 that's a handicap on Joseph Ridhorn!"
 
 76 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Few things evaporate so quickly as the pub- 
 lic's interest in an individual; few so slowly as 
 the individual's interest in the public. For a 
 week or so Fairport wondered about P. Smith. 
 (His Christian name had not come to light; he 
 never mentioned or wrote it, and his wife, a 
 pretty woman with a patient mouth and anxious 
 eyes, invariably addressed or referred to 'him as 
 "Father.") After a week or so P. Smith began 
 to wonder about Fairport. It was as though he 
 had taken a high dive before a crowd, and had 
 risen, gasping, only to ask himself where all 
 the people had gone, and later, to doubt if any- 
 one had really cared whether he sank or swam. 
 
 At the same time, P. Smith made friends in 
 Fairport. He was a pleasant fellow and avoided 
 exhibiting his city ways and wit at the expense 
 of his more sluggish-minded neighbours. Though 
 he could not play bowls he became a member of 
 the club, of which Mr. Banks, the fishmonger, 
 was president. Possessed of a fair voice, he 
 joined the church choir. He was first to put 
 his hand in his pocket when a collection was 
 taken for the widow Waldie. 
 
 And so far as work was concerned, he made a 
 fair start. He was commissioned by the fish- 
 monger to paint his shop inside and out, and 
 he obtained the pier contract. It is true that 
 after the former job was finished, Mr. Danks
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 77 
 
 proposed settling the bill with a year's supply 
 of fish, and, that being gratefully but firmly re- 
 fused, withheld payment in cash until the creditor 
 was fain to submit to a deduction of ten per 
 cent, by way of discount. Then the second job 
 must have resulted, according to Mr. Redhorn's 
 calculations, in a net loss of 7. 155. 
 
 It must not be imagined, however, that these 
 things gave Mr. Red'horn any great satisfaction 
 or prevented him from treating his opponent in 
 courteous, if chilly, fashion. 
 
 "I seen ye speakin' to Smith again the day," 
 said Willie one evening in May. "Did ye no' 
 hear he had gotten the job at the Manse?" 
 
 Said Mr. Redhorn : "He's welcome to that job. 
 As for speakin' to the man, did ye never hear 
 o' gladiators salutin' each ither afore commencin' 
 to stab each ither in the vittles ? As I've already 
 informed ye, politeness costs naething. P. Smith 
 kens as weel as I dae that it's war to the knife " 
 
 "My! Wud ye stab the man, Maister Rid- 
 horn?" 
 
 "Metaphorically speakin'," said Mr. Redhorn, 
 "I wud ! But as lang as he salutes me, I'll salute 
 him." 
 
 "Aw," said Willie, disappointedly. "There's 
 awfu' little trade for us the noo," he added. 
 
 "Ye're gettin' yer wages a' the same." 
 
 "D'ye think ye'll manage to burst him in twa 
 years ?"
 
 78 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Less nor that," replied the painter, in a boast- 
 ful tone that was new to the boy. "Gi'e me a 
 twelve-month, ma lad." 
 
 "Ye're a corker!" cried Willie, involuntarily. 
 "I mean ye're awfu' savage brave, I mean." 
 
 "Wullie, I'm gaun to confide in ye. I've swal- 
 lowed an insult, an' it hasna agreed wi' me. In 
 the course o' oor conversation the day, P. Smith 
 informed me that he had been through the 
 Manse, inspectin' it afore concoctin' his esti- 
 mate. The word 'concoctin' ' is mine's. He like- 
 wise informed me that it appeared to be mony 
 years since the Manse was last pentit an' papered, 
 an' that, in his opeenion, the man that done the 
 job maun ha'e had the notions an' taste o' a 
 hippopotamus sufferin' frae hydrophobia " 
 
 Willie laughed and stopped short. 
 
 "The man that done it," said Mr. Redhorn 
 hoarsely, "was me." 
 
 "Did ye tell him? I wonder ye didna hand 
 him a bat on " 
 
 "I I preferred that he should learn the truth 
 frae some ither party. But, as aforesaid, the 
 insult has disagreed wi' me." 
 
 "Like the tinned sawmon ye had last week?" 
 
 "That's enough !" said the painter sternly. 
 
 After a pause the boy asked. "Dae ye want 
 me to tell him aboot the Manse, Maister Rid- 
 horn?" 
 
 "In the meantime I prefer him to conteenue
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 79 
 
 in his meeserable eegnorance, laddie. Let the 
 truth confound him in due season. I may say 
 that he referred to ma oreeginal stencil o' con- 
 ventional comets on the staircase as deleerious 
 sassiges " 
 
 "I doobt he kent it was you a' the time, an' 
 was takin' a rise oot o' ye." 
 
 "A rise oot o' me?" Mr. Redhorn sat down 
 in his easy-chair. 
 
 "I've a guid mind to heave a brick through 
 his window the nicht," said Willie svmpathis- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Na, na. Nae violence," said Mr. Redhorn. 
 "Ye best awa' hame," he said presently in an 
 almost natural voice. "Divulge naething o' what 
 yeVe heard here. But gi'e me a twelve-month 
 frae this date!" 
 
 Left to himself he took up a penny novelette 
 and endeavoured to become absorbed in its vil- 
 lainies and virtues. But as he read he muttered : 
 "Hippopotamus hydrophobia deleerious sas- 
 siges !" 
 
 Verily there were worse afflictions than the 
 loss of money. 
 
 Upon what precisely Joseph Redhorn based his 
 estimate of his opponent's financial staying 
 power will probably never be known. Perhaps 
 he gained a hint from the man's manner, which 
 to his shrewd enough intelligence seemed arti-
 
 8o THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 ficially buoyant; perhaps he guessed something 
 from the face of the man's wife. Or it may 
 have been only bluff when he named a twelve- 
 month to his apprentice. The fact remains that 
 his estimate turned out to be correct. If any- 
 thing, it had erred on the safe side. As Mr. 
 Redhorn had said, there was not sufficient work 
 in Fairport for two painters, and that particular 
 year brought even fewer orders than usual. Then 
 in the autumn Mrs. P. Smith had a baby, and 
 in the winter three of her children took measles. 
 Just before the new year P. Smith's paint store 
 went on fire, and the damage was not covered 
 by insurance. P. Smith was seen less frequently 
 in the choir and oftener in the beer-shop. He 
 avoided his rival in trade. But his manner was 
 more buoyant than ever. He talked briskly, 
 perhaps feverishly, of the orders he was going 
 to secure for the approaching Spring. 
 
 ***** 
 
 On a snowy night in February Mr. Redhorn, 
 seated at his hearth, was turning over the pages 
 of his ledger, and muttering pessimistic com- 
 ments, when Willie dropped in without invitation. 
 He was a bearer of news. 
 
 "Maister Ridhorn, d'ye ken what they're 
 sayin' ootbye?" 
 
 "They're sayin' it's bitter cauld, I suppose. 
 The fragidity o' ma feet has never been sur- 
 passed."
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 81 
 
 "They're sayin' that P. Smith hasna bought 
 ony butcher meat for a month, an' they're sayin' 
 that Danks the fishmonger is gaun to summon 
 him to the court for his fish accoont. I seen him 
 gaun into the beer-shop as I cam' by. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, having set the boy's usual re- 
 freshment on the table, sat down slowly. 
 
 "Aw !" he muttered. 
 
 "An they're sayin there was a man here frae 
 Glesca the day, tryin' to get money oot o' him." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn reopened his ledger without re- 
 mark. 
 
 "So," said Willie, "it strikes me ye've aboot 
 burst P. Smith eh?" 
 
 "I've jist been reckonin' up that I've lost aboot 
 sixty pound in the twelve-month." 
 
 "But ye've burst him noo." 
 
 "Haud yer tongue, laddie!" 
 
 Willie gaped at his master. "I thought ye 
 wud be pleased," he said at last. 
 
 "Maybe I'm ower pleased for words," was the 
 reply. The painter continued more gently : "Ony- 
 way, we'll converse on ither subjects, Wullie. 
 Efter a', it's a terrible thing to see a fellow crea- 
 ture beat espaycially a fellow creature wi' a 
 wife an' five sma' weans " 
 
 "Six," said Willie. 
 
 "Ay, six. I had got into the habit o' thinkin' 
 o' five. . . . Drink up, an' I'll walk hame wi' 
 ye."
 
 82 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 About two hours later P. Smith came out of 
 the beer-shop. He had had some beer not 
 much, for his money was done, and no one had 
 offered to treat him. He had spent the evening 
 in a corner by himself. He came forth alone. 
 The snow was falling densely, driven by a breeze 
 from the southeast. He could see no one abroad 
 in the village. He crossed the road and stood 
 against the sea-wall, beyond the rays of light 
 from the few windows which had not been 
 shuttered. Gradually his figure became white. 
 Beneath him, invisible, the sea cried softly. . . . 
 
 Ere long the door of the beer-shop opened; 
 the last of its patrons came forth and hurried 
 homewards. The outer door was shut and bolted ; 
 a little later the window went black. Other 
 lights went out in the village until only two were 
 left one close at hand, the other very far (so 
 it seemed) away. The near light was in the 
 home of Joseph Redhorn, the distant one in that 
 of the man standing by the sea-wall. 
 
 Some minutes passed, and then P. Smith 
 moved in the direction of the nearer light. But 
 he did not move far. Halting, he shook his 
 head. A sob burst from his throat. Turning 
 abruptly, he almost ran towards the pier. Pres- 
 ently he was fumbling at the gate. 
 
 "I think it's locked," said a timid voice, and 
 Mr. Redhorn stepped from the porch of the 
 pier-house.
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 83 
 
 For a moment P. Smith peered at him ; then he 
 leaned against the gate, speechless, trembling. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn cleared his throat. "It it it's 
 a bad nicht for folk wi' chilblains," he remarked, 
 "but I I had to come oot for a breather for 
 ma dyspeepsia. That's hoo I happen to be here. 
 . . . Weel, seein' we've met, what d'ye say to 
 a gless o' ginger wine at ma fireside, afore ye 
 gang hame, Smith?" Without waiting a reply, 
 he put him arm through the other's. 
 
 P. Smith went with him like a sleepy child. 
 Indoors he allowed himself to be conducted to 
 his host's chair, a glass of ginger wine placed in 
 his hand without a word. 
 
 "Sup it up," said Mr. Redhorn. "I'll ha'e 
 yin masel'." They drank in silence. 
 
 It was not until the host had taken the guest's 
 empty glass that the dazed look began to pass 
 from the latter's face. 
 
 Said P. Smith, at last, huskily: "We came to 
 Fairport, because I thought it would be good for 
 the children." 
 
 "Surely," Mr. Redhorn murmured. 
 
 "And I I had the notion o' startin' on my 
 own account." 
 
 "Jist that." 
 
 "My wife my wife thought I was better in 
 the situation I was in." 
 
 "Did she?" 
 
 There was a pause.
 
 84 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Noo an' then," said Mr. Redhorn cautiously, 
 "a woman's richt. It happens so occasionally. 
 Ay to be sure precisely." He coughed. 
 "Maybe Mistress Smith'll be wonderin' " 
 
 The visitor half rose and sank back. He was 
 not yet fit to go. His eyes once so bright and 
 alert, fell before Mr. Redhorn's, always so dull 
 and tired. 
 
 "My God!" he whispered, "I'm done!" 
 
 "Na, na!" said Mr. Redhorn, nervously. "Ye 
 maun never say that, this side o' the tomb. Man 
 Smith!" he cried aloud, "I'm vexed for ye 
 sair vexed for ye. I I didna want ye here; 
 but but I dinna like to see ony man beat. But 
 maybe ye're no' beat yet?" 
 
 "I'm finished ! Oh, you know it, after what 
 you've seen to-night." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stood up, his long thin body 
 quivering. "Oh, Lord!" he whispered, "is there 
 ony earthly business that isna someway damn- 
 able in Thy sicht?" He stole towards the other 
 man, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Smith, 
 if I had been a younger man, it's likely I wud 
 ha'e got beat. It was jist a question c' age an' 
 experience an' a wee bit o' capital." 
 
 "I've been an awful fool," mumbled P. Smith. 
 "I saw I was wrong at the start, but I wouldn't 
 turn back. My wife " 
 
 "Ye didna ha'e a chance." Mr. Redhorn
 
 THE OPPOSITION MAN 85 
 
 began to pat his guest's shoulder. "See here, 
 Smith, what are ye gaun to dae?" 
 
 "Go bankrupt." 
 
 "Na, na! Are ye are ye agin takin' a seetu- 
 ation again?" 
 
 "There's a situation waiting for me in Glas- 
 gow if I could get away from here." 
 
 "An' why" 
 
 "Redhorji, I'm chained up here wi' debt." 
 
 "Much?" 
 
 A sob, or something like it. 
 
 "Hoo much, Smith?" 
 
 "N near fifty pound." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn walked slowly to the window and 
 back. After considerable hesitation he said: 
 
 "Yer stock-in-trade'll be something. What 
 wud ye be askin' for it?" 
 
 "Redhorn, if I was offered a fair job to-mor- 
 row I couldn't take it for want o' materials." 
 
 "Weel, weel ! . . . What aboot goodwill ?" 
 
 At this P. Smith laughed drearily. "Goodwill ! 
 Oh, hell! What goodwill has a broken business 
 like mine?" 
 
 Again Mr. Redhorn laid his hand on his guest's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Apart frae yer business," he said awkwardly, 
 "I hereby I hereby offer ye fifty pound cash 
 
 for yer goodwill." 
 
 ***** 
 
 It was still snowing when they set out.
 
 86 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Ye're lucky no' to ha'e chilblains." Mr. Red- 
 horn spoke in cheerful jerky fashion. "An 5 ye'll 
 no' come to ma hoose till late the morn's nicht, 
 mind, for it's a secret atween us. I'm gled 
 ye're no' afflicted wi' the dyspeepsia, which is a 
 trial for onybody wi' artistic feelin's. An' I'll 
 ha'e the cash ready, so as ye can get awa' frae 
 Fairport when it suits ye. Mind, ye're no' to 
 think ye got beat here. If ye had come twinty 
 year later, I wud ha'e fled frae the fray, so to 
 speak. Ye jist happened to arrive at the wrang 
 time. An' I'll come an' see ye when I'm in 
 Glesca, an' meybe Mistress Smith'll gi'e me a 
 dish o' tea. An' trust ye'll be fruitful an' mul- 
 tiply etceetera. I think I best awa' hame noo." 
 He held out his hand. "An' I forgive ye for 
 yer remark aboot the hydropathic hippopotamus 
 an' the insane sassiges." 
 
 "Oh!" said poor P. Smith, and got no fur- 
 ther, for Joseph Redhorn literally ran away. 
 ***** 
 
 The P. Smiths left Fairport within the week. 
 Doubtless it was by the merest chance that Mr. 
 Redhorn happened to be on the pier at their 
 departure, and Mr. Danks for long afterwards 
 declared it was just rank hypocrisy that made 
 the painter shake hands with them all, including 
 the infant. 
 
 And even Willie still believes that his master 
 "burst the Opposeetion Man."
 
 A COSTLY NAP 
 
 "YJTELP yersel', John." Mr. Redhorn 
 passed the ginger wine to his guest 
 
 *- and glanced at the clock. 
 
 "Thenk ye, thenk ye." The reputed oldest 
 inhabitant refilled his glass with a steadiness of 
 hand remarkable at his time of life, took a 
 mouthful of the harmless warming liquid, 
 smacked his lips, and lay back in his chair with 
 an air of satisfaction. "Ye're no' sayin' muckle 
 for yersel' the nicht, Joseph," he remarked, 
 pleasantly. "I've been waitin' to hear aboot yer 
 veesit to the pictur' palace. I've been hearin' 
 a lot aboot pictur' palaces lately. What did ye 
 think o' it?" 
 
 The painter, who had been up at five a.m. > 
 it was now ten p.m. swallowed a yawn. "Oh, 
 it was vera divertin' in its way. I confess I pre- 
 ferred the wild beasts to the human bein's that 
 appeared afore ma gaze. The comic element was 
 so-so made ye laugh at the time, but never 
 efterwards. As for the sensation, it was strong 
 enough an' plenty o' folk like their tea biled." 
 
 87
 
 88 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "What was the sensation?" 
 
 "I canna mind it a', I'm thenkful to be able to 
 say. But among ither items, I seen a young 
 female pit a carvin'-knife into a chap that was 
 tryin' to sleep off the fumes o' noxious liquors. 
 Moreover, I witnessed a bad man gettin' run 
 ower by a steam road-roller. That gi'ed me a 
 grue, I admit." 
 
 "What like was the corp?" Mr. McNab in- 
 quired with an interest worthier of a happier 
 subject. 
 
 "I didna wait to see the remains, if ony," 
 Mr. Redhorn replied. 
 
 "In ma youth," said the old man, "I wrought 
 for a while on a traction ingine; an' on a dark 
 mornin' we gaed ower a hen or maybe it was 
 a hedgehog." 
 
 "It wud be a' the same efter the mishap." The 
 painter concealed another yawn. "On the whole, 
 I dinna disapprove o' the cinematograph; like 
 maist things in this warld, it has its guid p'ints. 
 Ye should tak' Mistress McNab across the water 
 some fine Seturday, an' see for yersel' what the 
 pictur' palace is like. Efter a', an indiveedual 
 subjec' like masel' to dyspeepsia an' ither fleshly 
 ills isna the best qualified person for to criticise 
 popular pleesures, an' I daresay you, John, bein' 
 hale and hearty, wud find plenty to yer taste in 
 the pictur' palace."
 
 A COSTLY NAP, 89 
 
 "I wud like fine to gang, but I ha'e ma doobts 
 aboot the wife. Is is the performance respect- 
 able?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn removed his gaze from the clock 
 to the fire. "Respectabeelity," he observed, "is 
 a slacker belt nor it used to be. The great thing 
 nooadays is breadth o' mind; depth is no' sae 
 important. It's for the police to say what is 
 an' what isna respectable an' that saves oor 
 consciences a heap o' worry. But I'm no sayin' 
 the pictur' palace is disrespectable. Folk that 
 like it say ti's elevatin'; folk that dinna like it 
 say it's lowerin'. As a matter o' fac', it's partly 
 the yin an' partly the ither. I wudna advise ye 
 to gang, John, if I thought ye wud get demoral- 
 ised." 
 
 "Oh, it wud tak' a queer lot to demoralise me," 
 said the reputed oldest inhabitant, recklessly. 
 "It's the wife I'm thinkin' o'. She's that easy 
 affronted. I think I best gang wi'oot her the 
 first time, an' see what it's like. Eh, Joseph ?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn hesitated to reply. Not for 
 years had Mr. McNab gone to the town across 
 the firth without his wife's escort. "I dinna 
 think sich drastic measures are necessary," he 
 said at last. "I'm sure Mistress McNab wud be 
 offended at naething I mean to say, there wud 
 be naething to offend her. When I was there the 
 place was chock-a-block wi' females."
 
 90 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "'Mphm!" Mr. McNab muttered, dubiously. 
 "Still, the sensations micht frichten her." 
 
 "I wudna say yer wife was timid for a fe- 
 male," said the painter, who was growing tired 
 of the conversation. 
 
 "A' the same," the other persisted, "it's the 
 best to be on the safe side. I'll gang to Gou- 
 rock the first fine Seturday, an' ha'e a spy at the 
 pictur', palace. Of course," he added, rather 
 hurriedly, "ye'll no' mention ma plan to her, 
 or onybody else, Joseph." 
 
 "Oh, I'll respec' yer confidence, John," Mr. 
 Redhorn returned, good-humouredly. He was 
 as certain as he was sure of anything in this 
 world that the old man would never find an 
 opportunity of leaving Fairport alone ; and in all 
 probability (he told himself) the whole matter 
 would be forgotten by the following morning. 
 
 Nevertheless, the old man appeared to be in 
 earnest. ''Ye'll no' betray me?" he persisted 
 anxiously. 
 
 "No* for a' the gold o' Crusoes !" declared the 
 painter, yawning openly. 
 
 Just then there was a gentle tapping at the 
 door. Old Mrs. McNab had come to take her 
 man home. 
 
 ***** 
 Mrs. McNab was "washing up" after break-
 
 A COSTLY NAE 91 
 
 fast the following Saturday, when her husband, 
 seated at the hearth, said, in a casual, yet not 
 very natural tone: 
 
 "It's a fine day I think I'll tak' a trip to 
 Gourock in the efternune." 
 
 "Ye'll what, John?" 
 
 "I'm savin' I think I'll tak' a trip to Gourock 
 in the efternune." 
 
 "What wud ye dae at Gourock ?" she inquired, 
 mildly enough. 
 
 "It's a lang while since I had a crack wi' 
 Peter McTavish." It must not be supposed that 
 Mr. McNab was in the habit of prevaricating 
 unless, perhaps, in the matter of his age. But 
 now the spirit of adventure was driving him 
 hard. 
 
 "The last time ye seen Peter McTavish, him 
 an' you cast oot aboot some stupid politics, an' 
 ye said ye wud never darken his door again." 
 
 "It's time we made it up." 
 
 Mrs. McNab finished the drying of a dish 
 before she responded. "I canna gang wi' ye 
 the day, John. The parlour's got to be cleaned 
 afore nicht-time. I'll see if I canna manage 
 next Seturday, or the next again." 
 
 Mr. McNab wriggled on his chair and cleared 
 his throat. "I I can gang to Gourock ma lane, 
 Mary." 
 
 "Havers, man!"
 
 92 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "But I can so ! Ye talk as if I was a wean." 
 
 "Noo, John, ye ken fine ye canna gang to 
 Gourock yer lane " 
 
 "An' what for no?" 
 
 "Because I wudna let ye gang yer lane!" 
 
 "See here, Mary," he cried, irritably, "I'm fair 
 seeck o' yer hingin' on to ma coat tails ! I canna 
 move a fit but ye're hingin' there!" 
 
 She gazed at him in gentle amazement. "John, 
 hoo mony years is it since ye gaed to Gourock 
 yer lane?" 
 
 "That's naething to dae wi' it! I I dinna 
 mean to hurt yer feelin's, but but " 
 
 "I wud gang wi' ye the day if I could," she 
 interrupted, without the slightest resentment. 
 "Listen, John! I'll promise to gang wi' next 
 Seturday. Will that no content ye?" 
 
 "I'll maybe no' want to gang next Seturday." 
 
 "Aw, ye're a contrairy auld man!" she re- 
 joined, smiling. "Awa* oot to the garden an' sit 
 in the sun this fine mornin'. We'll speak aboot 
 it at dinner-time." 
 
 But at dinner-time he made no reference to 
 the matter, and she was not sorry to think that 
 he had forgotten all about it. The meal being 
 over, he returned to the garden, to sit once more 
 in the sun so, at least, she presumed. 
 
 About three o'clock Mr. Redhorn, setting
 
 A COSTLY NAP 93 
 
 forth for an after-dinner walk, encountered Mrs. 
 McNab, worried and excited. 
 
 "I was comin' to see ye," she said. "Ha'e ye 
 seen onything o' John?" 
 
 "No' the day, Mistress McNab. Was he comin' 
 to see me?" 
 
 "He's awa' to Gourock!" 
 
 "Gourock !" exclaimed the painter with a sud- 
 den sense of dismay. 
 
 "Ay an' him in his auld coat no' even a 
 clean collar to his neck! But I ken where to 
 find him if I gang on the next boat an' if nae- 
 thing has happened to him." 
 
 "Ye ken where to find him ! Did he tell ye he 
 was gaun to Gourock?" 
 
 "He was speakin' aboot it this mornin'. But I 
 tell't him I couldna gang wi' him, an' I promised 
 to gang next Seturday an' I thought that he 
 would ha'e contented him. I never thought he 
 wud treat me like this, efter three-an'-fifty year 
 efter the way I've ta'en care o' him. But a 
 man's a man for a' that, as he used to sing it. 
 I suppose it means that a man can never be 
 onything better nor a man, if he lives for a hun- 
 derd years. But I thought John wud " 
 
 "Dinna tak' it to heart like that," the painter 
 softly interrupted. "I'm sure John didna mean 
 to hurt yer feelin's. But ye ye said ye kent 
 where to find him?"
 
 94 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "He said he wanted to see a man, Peter Mc- 
 Tavish." 
 
 "Oh! . . . Aweel, if ye ha'e nae objections, 
 I'll come in the boat wi' ye." 
 
 "I'll be gled o' yer comp'ny, Maister Ridhorn. 
 Ye've aye been a guid frien' to John." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head, wishing he had 
 said less or, better, nothing whatever about 
 picture palaces to the old man. He looked at his 
 watch. "We ha'e twinty-five meenutes till the 
 boat comes," he said, "so we'll jist step up to 
 ma hoose an' ha'e a dish o' tea. I left a guid 
 fire. Come awa', Mistress McNab. Keep up yer 
 heart. We'll find yer guid man safe an' soun', 
 or ma name's no' Joseph Ridhorn. An' I wud 
 humbly implore ye no' to be severe wi' him. To 
 
 err is human, etceetera." 
 
 ***** 
 
 An hour later they stood on Gourock pier. The 
 painter was nervous. 
 
 "I ha'e a suggestion to offer," he said. "Tell 
 me where to find John, an' I'll fetch him to ye 
 in the waitin' room here. It it micht gi'e him 
 a scare if ye was drappin' on him like a bolt 
 f rae the blue, as it were." 
 
 "Ye're rael thoughtful for John," she returned, 
 a trifle drily, perhaps. "But I canna quarrel wi' 
 yer plan, for I wudna like to affront him afore 
 Peter McTavish. She mentioned the address,
 
 A COSTLY NAP 95 
 
 adding, "As quick's ye can, please, for I'm 
 anxious." 
 
 "Ye'll no' be severe on him?" 
 
 "Was I ever severe on him?" 
 
 "I ask yer pardon," said Mr. Redhorn, and 
 straightway departed. 
 
 Fortunately the picture palace was but a little 
 way from the pier. 
 
 At the pay-box Mr. Redhorn made inquiry. 
 "Ha'e ye seen a vera auld man an extra auld 
 man an antiquarian, in fac' enter these prem- 
 ises recently?" 
 
 The box-keeper admitted that an aged person 
 had paid for admission about two hours ago. 
 
 "I want to see him," said the painter. 
 
 "Sixpence." 
 
 "Can I no' gang in wi'oot payin?" 
 
 "No, but you can pay without going in." 
 
 "I perceive, young man," said Mr. Redhorn, 
 "that ye're better at quotin' nor thinkin'. Weel, 
 here's yer saxpence. Kindly pull the string, 
 or press the button, or whatever ye dae for a 
 livin'." 
 
 Presently he found himself inside, and in dark- 
 ness. An attendant informed him that the lights 
 would go up in about five minutes. In that 
 period of time Mr. Redhorn witnessed the at- 
 tempted murder of a dazzlingly fair damsel by 
 an exceedingly swarthy gentleman, the rescue of 
 the former and confounding of the latter by a
 
 noble-looking youth in an immaculate sailor suit, 
 the suicide by slow poison of the swarthy one, 
 and the bethrothal of the lovers. 
 
 On the theatre being illuminated he espied the 
 object of his search not far away. Mr. McNab 
 was rubbing his eyes. When the painter spoke 
 to him he looked up in dazed fashion. 
 
 "Guidsakes! is it you, Joseph? What are ye 
 daein' here?" 
 
 "Aw, I jist drapped in, thinkin' I micht find 
 ye en joy in' yersel'. But we'll get ootside noo 
 er, John?" 
 
 "But I ha'ena seen onything yet," the old man 
 protested. 
 
 "Ye've been here for twa hours. Come ; we'll 
 get ootside/' 
 
 Mr. McNab rose slowly. He was beginning 
 to understand and to suspect. "Is is She here, 
 Joseph?" he whispered. 
 
 "No' exac'ly here, John. . . . She's at the 
 pier, waitin' for us. We'll be in nice time to 
 drink a gless o' ginger wine afore we catch the 
 boat for Fairport." 
 
 "Did ye betray me, Joseph?" 
 
 "Na, na. When I left her at the pier I was 
 to look for ye at McTavish's. She was sure ye 
 had gaed there." 
 
 "Oh, dear me !" groaned Mr. McNab, and fell 
 silent. 
 
 When they were in the street, the painter said,
 
 A COSTLY NAP 97 
 
 softly: "I think ye best tell her aboot every- 
 thing, John." 
 
 "I've naething to tell her aboot. I never seen 
 onything." 
 
 "I dinna understand ye, John. What dae ye 
 mean ?" 
 
 "What I say. Ye tell me I was in the place 
 for twa hours, an' I believe ye. Still, I never 
 seen onything excep' a pictur' o' a lot o' sea- 
 gulls an' I can see plenty o' seagulls ony day 
 at Fairport an' the place was warm an' dark, 
 an' I was kin o' wearit, an' I thought I wud shut 
 ma e'en for twa meenutes, an' Weel, the next 
 thing I seen was yersel'. . . . Oh, man, if I 
 was a wee thing younger, I wud gang up a close 
 an' kick masel'. Saxpence for a bit nap! The 
 dearest nap I ever had! Joseph, ha'e ye ony 
 extra bad language ?" 
 
 "Ma sympathy is nane the weaker for bein' 
 dumb, John," replied the painter. "It was indeed, 
 as ye observe, a costly nap. In some o' the new 
 London hotels see advertizements ye wud 
 likely ha'e got breakfast thrown in, an' maybe 
 a bath into the bargain. . . . But what are we 
 to say to the guidwife, John?" 
 
 "Oh, she'll jist ha'e to get the truth what 
 there is o' it. Maybe the nap was a judgment 
 on me. I'm sorry I vexed her. . . . But as 
 I've said afore a man maun ha'e his fling."
 
 VI 
 
 A BID FOR FAME 
 
 HEY! Hold on!" cried the apprentice 
 so sharply that Mr. Redhorn dropped 
 his brush and all but fell from the 
 ladder. 
 
 Recovering his balance, the painter, with nat- 
 ural enough irritation, but with unwonted as- 
 perity, exclaimed : "What the mischief did ye 
 yell like that for, laddie? I micht ha'e broke 
 ma neck." 
 
 "I couldna help yellin' when I seen ye was 
 for puttin' the wrang colour on the cornice." 
 
 "The wrang colour!" Mr. Redhorn looked 
 down at the pot in his left hand, the pot with 
 which he had mounted the ladder a minute pre- 
 viously. "Criftens !" he muttered, and proceeded 
 to descend cautiously to the floor. 
 
 Arrived there, he set down the paint-pot and 
 solemnly presented his apprentice with his hand. 
 
 "Wullie/' he said to the astonished youth, "if 
 ye risked ma neck, ye saved ma reputation. 
 What wud Mistress Carvey ha'e said if I had 
 98
 
 A BID FOR FAME 99 
 
 i 
 
 put sky-blue where she ordered sawmon-pink? 
 Thenk ye, laddie thenk ye !" 
 
 "Aw, it was naething," muttered Willie. "I 
 jist didna want to see ye mak' a cod o' yersel'. 
 A' the same, I dinna think ye could break yer 
 neck fallin' that wee height." 
 
 "The human neck," said Mr. Redhorn seri- 
 ously, "is easier broke nor ye seem to think, 
 ma lad, an' I never was skilled at the acrobatics. 
 I never yet fell wi'oot hurtin' masel' an' beholdin' 
 a superabundance o' stars. At the same time, 
 as previously observed, I'm grateful to ye for 
 stayin' ma hand afore it could mak' a false 
 step." 
 
 During these remarks Willie had lifted a pot, 
 and now he offered it to his employer. "Here's 
 the sawmon-pink, Maister Ridhorn, an' I'll whis- 
 per the next time instead o' yellin'." 
 
 But Mr. Redhorn shook his head, and mo- 
 tioned the pot away, saying: 
 
 "Na, Wullie, I'll leave the cornice till the 
 morn's mornin', and meantime I'll help ye wi' 
 the skirtin'-board." He consulted his watch. 
 "Five o'clock. Ay! we'll manage to feenish the 
 skirtin'-board afore we knock off." 
 
 "Are ye are ye feared to gang up the ladder 
 again ?" the boy inquired. 
 
 "I am that," the painter replied with a sigh. 
 "But it's ma reputation mair nor ma neck that
 
 ioo THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 I'm feared for. The truth is, I'm no' in the 
 humour for performin' delicate operations." He 
 hesitated for a moment. "Maybe ye've noticed 
 that something has been preyin' on ma mind the 
 day, eh?" 
 
 "Is it yer dyspeepsia again?" 
 
 "I said ma mind, laddie. Maybe I should 
 ha'e said ma intellec'." 
 
 "Ye've got me there," said Willie. 
 
 "Ye ha'ena noticed onything?" 
 
 Willie shook his head. "Has Danks, the fish- 
 monger, been teasin' ye again?" he inquired, as 
 with an after-thought. 
 
 "Na; it's no' Danks this time, though I dare- 
 say it'll no' be lang afore he'll be wantin' his 
 revenge." 
 
 "Revenge?" 
 
 "Ay ! For, ye see, I got the better o' him last 
 nicht and noo I wish I hadna. But this'll no' 
 dae. -Time's money to Miss Carvey, as weel as 
 to Joseph Ridhorn. Get to work on the skirtin'- 
 board, laddie." 
 
 For three minutes they painted diligently and 
 in silence. Then Willie's curiosity got the bet- 
 ter of him. 
 
 "What did ye dae to Danks last nicht?" he 
 casually inquired. 
 
 "Pay attention to yer job," said Mr. Redhorn,
 
 A BID FOR FAME 101 
 
 not very firmly, however. He was longing to 
 confide in the only confidant he possessed. 
 
 Willie's ears detected the weakness in the com- 
 mand. "Come on; tell us, Maister Ridhorn," 
 he said softly, persuasively. "What did ye dae 
 to Danks?" 
 
 "Naething, direc'ly ; but I could see he left the 
 meetin' in a huff." 
 "What meetin' ?" 
 
 "Pay attention to yer job." Mr. Redhorn 
 dipped his brush, made a few strokes with it, 
 gently scratched the tip of his nose with the 
 point of the handle, and continued: "I suppose 
 ye're aweer that Samuel M'Tavish, the Fairport 
 polisman or constable, as he prefers to be desig- 
 nated has got promotion to the city?" 
 
 "Ay! he'll maybe get quit o' some o' his fat 
 there. He's'liker a hippopotamus nor a man " 
 "Whisht, laddie! Dinna speak evil o' the 
 departed or, at ony rate, the aboot-to-be-de- 
 parted. For a man that's had sae little to dae 
 for ten year, Samuel's no' a bad chap. Onyway, 
 it has been decided to compliment him wi' a 
 presentation afore he departs, this day week. A 
 commytee was formed some time back to gather 
 funds, etceetera. The presentation will consist 
 o' a purse o' twinty sovereigns in gold " 
 "Gor!"
 
 102 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 " an' a clock, for he's getting married 
 shortly." 
 
 "My! it's fine to be a slop!" 
 
 "That's an awfu' unseemly word, Wullie. A 
 polisman's is an honourable profession, though 
 it involves mair boots nor brains. Still, I've nae 
 doobt Samuel'll need to use his heid for a' it's 
 worth when he gets to the city." 
 
 "But what aboot Banks? Would he no' put 
 onything in the purse?" 
 
 "Oh, Banks subscribed his share. Gi'e the 
 man credit for that. But the meetin' last nicht 
 wasna entirely feenancial. In fac', the chief busi- 
 ness was to choose the party that wud mak' the 
 presentation, likewise a speech. That was where 
 the trouble commenced, Wullie. They didna 
 choose Banks." 
 
 "Wha did they choose?" 
 
 "Me," said the painter sadly. "On' noo I 
 wish it had been the other way. But I was kin' 
 o' elevated last nicht." 
 
 "Eh?" Willie regarded his employer with in- 
 creased interest. 
 
 "I'm sayin' I was kin' o' elevated. Ye see, the 
 meetin' was in ma hoose, and I felt it ma duty 
 to stan* the comp'ny a bottle o' ginger wine; an* 
 what wi' the fumes o' the wine, as the poets 
 say, an' the popular acclamations, I lost ma heid
 
 A BID FOR FAME 103 
 
 for the time bein', and consented to mak' the 
 presentation on Thursday, the third prox." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "This day week. An' noo I'm sorry." 
 
 "But ye can draw back yet, and let Danks get 
 the job." 
 
 "A Ridhorn never draws back," said the 
 painter, adding under his breath, "espaycially 
 when there's a Danks in the field." 
 
 "Is the polisman to get 'his purse an' clock 
 in a field?" inquired Willie. 
 
 "Tits, laddie, I was speakin' metaphorically. 
 The ceremony'll tak' place in the public hall, an' 
 a' Fairport'll be there. An', as sure as death, 
 I'll mak' a cod o' masel', and be the laughin'- 
 stock o' Fairport, Danks included. Aweel, let 
 it be a lesson to ye. See that ye never let yer 
 vanity get the better o' yer sober judgment. 
 Turn a deaf ear to popular applause, an' 
 avoid " 
 
 "I wudna drink ginger wine if I was payed 
 for V said Willie. "But I'm sure," he added 
 kindly, "ye can mak' as guid a speech as ony 
 man in Fairport, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "On paper, Wullie, on paper or, at ony rate, 
 on the taiblets o' ma imagination," said Mr. Red- 
 horn modestly. "That was another metaphor, 
 ye wud observe. Oh, I wouldna shrink if it was 
 merely a case o' composeetion in fac', I think
 
 104 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 I rway say wi'oot ostentation" he smacked his 
 lips over the word "that, barrin' the meenister, 
 I would beat ony man in Fairport an' the 
 viceenity at the game." 
 
 "My! ye're a demon for fancy words!" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn let the compliment pass. "But," 
 he went on sadly, "when it comes to gi'ein' an 
 oral demonstration o' ma oratorical an' rhetor- 
 orical abeelities " 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "When it comes to openin' ma mooth for to 
 emit the fruits o' ma lucubrations " 
 
 Unfortunately at this point Willie permitted 
 himself to snigger, and although he blew his nose 
 almost simultaneously, Mr. Redhorn's suspicion 
 was stirred. 
 
 "Pay attention to yer job," said the painter, 
 "an' we'll work till ten meenutes past the hour 
 the nicht" 
 
 "But I've got a f ootba' match the nicht !" 
 
 "In that case we'll start ten meenutes earlier 
 the morn's mornin'. Noo proceed. Keep yer 
 brush busy, an' gi'e yer tongue a rest." 
 
 Which was rather unjust of Mr. Redhorn, 
 considering that he had been doing the most of 
 the talking. He sought to make up for his sharp- 
 ness later by inviting the boy to tea, and was 
 honestly disappointed when Willie, who bore no 
 ill-will, reminded him of the football match.
 
 A BID FOR FAME 105 
 
 "I I was thinkin' ye micht care to gi'e me a 
 hand wi' the speech," he said diffidently, as they 
 were about to part. 
 
 "Oh, weel, I'll see if I've time," said Willie 
 carelessly. 
 
 In spite of his brave words, Mr. Redhorn dis- 
 covered that even mere "composeetion" was not 
 lightly to be achieved. At eight-thirty Willie 
 found him groaning over a table littered with 
 scraps of paper and cigarette ash. 
 
 "Ha'e ye no' had yer tea yet?" the apprentice 
 inquired, after a glance round the untidy room. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. 
 
 "Hoo mony ceegarettes ha'e ye smoked?" 
 
 "Dear knows," the painter wearily replied. "I 
 thought they would maybe stimulate ma brain " 
 
 "If ye wud smoke guid ceegarettes instead o' 
 that rotten sort " 
 
 "I've tell't ye afore, I canna afford to be a 
 connisewer." Mr. Redhorn passed his hand over 
 his scalp. 
 
 "Is yer heid hurtin' ye?" 
 
 "No' jist exactly hurtin' me, but I'm begginin' 
 to understan' why so mony o' the world's greatest 
 thinkers ha'e ended their days in the madhoose." 
 He groaned, dipped his pen, and brought from 
 the depths of the ink-pot a blob of sediment. 
 "That," he said, regarding it bitterly, "is what
 
 io6 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 happens every time I'm seized wi' an aspira- 
 tion." 
 
 Willie, having passed to the mentelpiece, 
 missed the significance of the last remark. He 
 now returned carrying a large bottle of medicinal 
 appearance. 
 
 "Ye better drink a dose o' the Elixir, Maister 
 Ridhorn." 
 
 "Tits, laddie, I've got nae dyspeepsia the noo. 
 Ma trouble is mental intellectual." 
 
 "An' that brings on the dyspeepsia later ye've 
 tell't me often." 
 
 "True! An' onyway, as wiser men nor me 
 ha'e remarked, prevention is better nor cure. 
 Gi'e me the bottle." Uncorking it, he lowered 
 a goodly pull, much to the gratification of Willie, 
 who never tired of seeing his employer take 
 physic. "Aw, laddie, that's a terrible taste. Re- 
 move it! I've been absorbin' that Elixir for 
 nine years, but if I was livin' to be a hundred, 
 I doobt I wudna get to like it." 
 
 "But it's guid for ye," said Willie, returning 
 the bottle to the mentelshelf. "I think I'll put 
 the kettle on, and ye'll get a cup o' tea, eh?" 
 
 "Ye're a thoughtful laddie," the painter re- 
 turned gratefully, cleaning his pen, and prepar- 
 ing to resume his task. 
 
 Presently, Willie, having mended the fire, 
 which had burned low, rejoined him.
 
 A BID FOR FAME 107 
 
 "Hoo are ye gettin' on, Maister Rid'horn?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sighed. "Ma brain feels burstin' 
 wi' ideas, but as sure as I start to write them 
 doon 'feugh ! they're awa' !" 
 
 "Ha'e ye nae notion o' what ye want to say?" 
 
 "Oh, I ken fine what I want to say," said the 
 painter a trifle sharply. "The deeficulty is to 
 command ma ideas. I think the best way'll be 
 to begin wi' a synopsis " 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "French. Ye'll see what it means immedi- 
 ately/' 
 
 Mr. Redhorn laid a fresh scrap of paper 
 before him, and cautiously dipped his pen. "For 
 instance, we'll ha'e to speak o' the polisman's 
 connection wi' Fairport, and the great respec' 
 and esteem he enjoyed " 
 
 "No' f rae me !" 
 
 "Whisht, laddie! When a prominent man is 
 leavin' the community for ony place excep' the 
 jail, it's usual to mention 'respec' and esteem.' 
 Then," the painter continued, "we wud need to 
 refer to the absence o' serious crime durin' his 
 residence here. I canna deny that ma remarks 
 wud be mair pungent if he had nabbed a burglar, 
 or detected a homicide, or performed a gallant 
 deed o' some description " 
 
 "He once got a motorist fined an' d'ye mind
 
 io8 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 when he was for arrestin' a photographer 
 for" 
 
 "Oh, we'll no' refer to these incidents. We'll 
 jist say he done his duty, an' then we'll con- 
 gratulate him on his promotion to a wider sphere, 
 which is tempered wi' unspeakable grief to think 
 that his feet will never (D.V.) tread these hos- 
 pitable shores again. That's the synopsis." Mr. 
 Redhorn concluded with a wave of his pen and 
 a long breath. 
 
 "My ! ye're a demon at speeches !" cried Willie, 
 in honest admiration. 
 
 "Ma mither aye wanted me to be a meenister," 
 said the gratified painter; "but I couldna think 
 to soar that high. Still, I'm gled ye approve o' 
 the synopsis, Wullie, which, ye must understan', 
 is merely the entrails o' the observations at 
 present seethin' in ma brain. If I can jist man- 
 age to get a tenth part o' ma thoughts on to 
 paper, an' a tenth part o' the result oot o' ma 
 mooth, I promise ye I'll gi'e Fairport something 
 to talk aboot for a month or at least a week. I 
 confess, laddie, yer kind words ha'e filled me 
 wi' a new enthusiasm, an' I'll proceed wi' ma 
 task in hope. Noo I hear the kettle singin', so 
 we'll get oot the dishes preparatory to enjoyin' 
 a dish o' tea." 
 
 "Strikes me," said Willie, "ye're feelin' the 
 better of the Elixir."
 
 A BID FOR FAME 109 
 
 "I'll no' deny it," returned Mr. Redhorn, ris- 
 ing briskly; "nor will I deny that I feel at this 
 blessed meenute like a young lion or an ostrich 
 I mean to say, an eagle which has renewed 
 its youth." 
 
 When Willie had recovered from a severe fit 
 of coughing, he said: 
 
 "Maister Ridhorn " and halted. 
 
 "What is it, laddie?" 
 
 "What d'ye think I was hearin' the nicht? I 
 was for tellin' ye suner, but I forgot." 
 
 From the cupboard where he kept his pro- 
 visions, Mr. Redhorn had taken a plate of butter. 
 "What did ye hear?" he asked fearfully, and 
 laid the plate of butter on the dresser. 
 
 "There's a reporter frae the Greenhill Herald 
 comin' to the polisman's meetin' next week." 
 
 "A reporter! Great guidness!" 
 
 "He's some relation o' the polisman's. I sup- 
 pose he'll be writin' doon yer speech for the 
 paper, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 For several seconds Mr. Redhorn remained 
 absolutely motionless. Then he strode noise- 
 lessly to the door and turned the key. Then 
 he walked over to the hearth, and stood there 
 for a moment or two, gently stroking his droop- 
 ing moustache. Then he stepped firmly across 
 to the dresser, half-turned, and faced his staring 
 apprentice.
 
 no THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "If this," he said, with emotion, raising his 
 clenched fist, "if this isna fame, Wullie, it it's 
 dashed near it!" The clenched fist fell with a 
 muffled thump. 
 
 "Oh, the butter!" yelled Willie. 
 
 The prospect of beholding his speech in print 
 was as a spur to Mr. Redhorn's flagging ambition 
 and faltering self-confidence. Yet a spur means 
 pain no less than encouragement, and the paint- 
 er's sufferings during the next six days and 
 nights shall not be described in these pages. 
 
 It was about nine o'clock on the sixth evening 
 that Mr. Redhorn made the announcement to 
 Willie, who had several times fallen asleep in 
 the easy-chair, of the completion of the great 
 work. 
 
 "Gor!" said Willie, sitting up. 
 
 "Noo, in the first place," said the author, "is 
 yer mither aware that ye' re here the nicht?" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "Secondly, will she be alarmed if ye're no' 
 hame afore nine-thirty?" 
 
 "No' her !" was the prompt reply. 
 
 "Then," said Mr. Redhorn, "seein 5 I've got to 
 gang to Glesca the morn, to settle quarterly ac- 
 counts, etceetera, I think I best read ye the speech 
 noo. Accordin' to ma calculations, it'll tak' forty 
 meenutes to deliver, an' "
 
 A BID FOR FAME in 
 
 "Holy Moses!" the boy exclaimed involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn permitted Himself to smile. "Yer 
 remark," he said, "suggests to me, Wullie, that 
 I've composed a sermon ; and I may say I'm no' 
 wantin' in hope that ma speech contains sundry 
 moral reflections. At the same time, it is 
 aboundin', mair or less, in humour and innocent 
 pleasantries. Moreover, it is rich in poetry. The 
 poetry, hooever, is unoriginal." 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 "But, on the whole, appropriate. Aweel, I'll 
 begin an' if there's onythirg ye dinna under- 
 stan', kindly preserve inquiries till I come to 
 'finis/" 
 
 "Could I get a drink o' water first?" 
 
 "Mercy, laddie, I clean forgot to inform ye- 
 o' the presence in thonder press o' a bottle o' 
 leemonade, specially purchased for yer ain con- 
 sumption. Help yersel', quick; but try no' to 
 let the gas get the better o' ye durin' ma recital. 
 I doobt I'll ha'e trouble enough try in' to read ma 
 ain deplorable penmanship, wi'oot ony exterior 
 interruptions." 
 
 A minute later, tumbler in hand, Willie settled 
 himself to listen. He had, during the past few 
 days, hearkened to endless quotations from his 
 employer's "notes," so that he did not expect 
 to be vastly entertained. Nevertheless so long,
 
 H2 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 at least, as his refreshment lasted he gave his 
 best attention to the somewhat stumbling "re- 
 cital." And he sometimes managed to laugh or 
 look grave at the right moment. Mr. Redhorn 
 never raised his eyes from the pages except to 
 rub them, while he mildly cursed his own bad 
 writing. 
 
 At a quarter to ten the bulky manuscript fell 
 from the fingers of the exhausted maker 
 thereof. 
 
 "Splendid!" cried Willie. "Splendid!" He 
 really could not think of anything else to say. 
 He had long since decided not to ask any ques- 
 tions. 
 
 "I dinna think onybody'll deny," said Mr. 
 Redhorn, wiping his streaming forehead, "that 
 it's a speech." 
 
 "I'll knock the face off onybody that does," 
 the apprentice declared. 
 
 "Ye're loyal, laddie, ye're loyal ! But between 
 you and me, I'm thinkin it's no hauf bad eh?" 
 
 "It's splendid!" said Willie, checking a yawn. 
 
 "I jist wish I hadna to gang to Glesca the 
 morn. I wud like fine if there had been time to 
 mak' a fresh copy o' the speech. I'm feared I'll 
 boggle at some o' the words that I've altered, 
 an' loss ma heid." Mr. Redhorn began to look 
 gloomy. 
 
 Willie had been given a holiday on the morrow,
 
 A BID FOR FAME 113 
 
 and had planned to go fishing. But something 
 impelled him to say : 
 
 "If ye like, I'll copy it for ye, an' ha'e it 
 ready for ye when ye come hame at five 
 o'clock." 
 
 "What! Ye wud dae that for me, Wullie? 
 'Deed, it wud mak' a' the difference in the world 
 to me an' ye're a grand writer, I ken." 
 
 "Ay, I'll dae it," said the boy, almost regret- 
 ting 'his offer. 
 
 "Weel," the painter said, "it'll be a benefit 
 that'll never be forgot. I'll bring ye the manu- 
 script an' a supply o' paper afore I gang for 
 the early boat, so as ye'll no' miss yer long lie. I 
 dinna ken what to say to ye, laddie, but I'm 
 gratefu'. An' noo I'm feared yer mither'll be 
 anxious." 
 
 When, on the following evening, Mr. Redhorn 
 stepped across the gangway, he was not sur- 
 prised to see a strange policeman on the pier, 
 for he was aware that the man had been in Fair- 
 port for several days, learning his way about 
 under the guidance of Samuel M'Tavish. But 
 he was surprised nay, stricken with astonish- 
 ment when the piermaster, receiving his toll, 
 remarked : 
 
 "We missed ye badly the day, Ridhorn." 
 "Eh?" exclaimed the painter, staring. Then
 
 ii4 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 assuming that he was being chaffed, he gave a 
 good-humoured laugh. "Weel, I hope the rest 
 o' Fairport has survived ma absence as weel as 
 you appear to ha'e done, Tammas." 
 
 "But it was a pity ye left wi' the early boat," 
 the other said seriously; "for the news arrived 
 at eight o'clock as sune as the telegraph wire 
 was open." 
 
 "Wh-what news?" 
 
 "I suppose I best tell ye the truth," the pier- 
 master replied reluctantly, for he was a sym- 
 pathetic soul. "Samuel M'Tavish got a wire 
 frae heidquarters commandin' him to report his- 
 sel' at the Glesca office first thing the morn's 
 mornin'. So he gaed off wi' the efternune boat. 
 A great pity ye wasna here." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn cleared his throat. "Dae ye 
 mean to say the polisman has left wi'oot receivin' 
 his presentation?" he stammered. 
 
 "Oh, he got his presentation richt enough. 
 Danks seen to that. Danks made the commytee 
 call a public meetin' for twa o'clock. The folk 
 turned oot weel; in fac', the hall was packed. 
 Danks put hissel' in the chair, an' made the 
 presentation, an' a speech forbye." 
 "Danks made a speech?" 
 "Aw! it wasna worth hearin', but I thought 
 it was best to tell ye, Ridhorn." 
 There was a short pause, during which the
 
 A BID FOR FAME 115 
 
 painter appeared to swallow something. Then 
 he said, thickly, but gently : "I'm obleeged to ye, 
 Tammas. Guid nicht!" 
 
 He made for his bachelor abode, avoiding sev- 
 eral neighbours who would 'have spoken with 
 him. He could not, however, avoid passing the 
 fish-shop, in the doorway of which Danks, liter- 
 ally swollen with importance, was standing with 
 some of his cronies. 
 
 With a great effort, the painter raised his 
 head and murmured "Fine nicht!" though the 
 rain was drizzling in melancholy fashion. 
 
 One of the cronies answered affably enough, 
 but the others sniggered, and the fishmonger 
 broke out with a sarcastic cackle, which followed 
 Mr. Redhorn to his door. 
 
 He had left the key with his apprentice, whom 
 he expected to find awaiting him at the fireside. 
 But the door was locked, and no answer came to 
 his knocking, until a neighbour appeared with 
 the key and the explanation that the boy had left 
 it in her charge some hours previously. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn entered, to find the fire out and 
 neither message nor manuscript from his appren- 
 tice. He threw himself into the shabby easy- 
 chair. 
 
 "Even Wullie'll be laughin' at me," he sighed 
 bitterly. 
 
 Threatenings of a cold in the head caused him
 
 ii6 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 to relight the fire and make a cup of tea. There- 
 after he settled down to brood miserably, wrath- 
 fully, on the perfidy of the Glasgow polke au- 
 thorities, the triumph of Banks, the amusement 
 of his neighbours, his own fatal conceit that had 
 led to his dignity's downfall, and, last but not 
 least, the foolish figure he must surely cut in 
 the eyes of his apprentice. 
 
 Nine o'clock arrived, and the poor struggling 
 hope that, in spite of all, Willie might turn up 
 with a word of sympathy, died out. And as he 
 once more called himself an old fool, a knock 
 fell on the door, and a voice called cheerfully : 
 
 "It's me Wullie!" 
 
 A moment later, he was admitted dripping, 
 mud-bespattered. 
 
 "Laddie, laddie, ye're drookit! Gang ower 
 to the fire. I'll ha'e the kettle bilin' in nae time, 
 an' ye'll drink a gless o' ginger-wine hot 
 whether ye like it or no'. Man, I'm pleased to 
 see ye!" Yet even as he uttered the last sen- 
 tence Mr. Redhorn's heart flopped once more 
 to the depths. "I suppose ye gaed to the fishin' 
 efter a'," he said, trying not to speak coldly. 
 "Weel, I suppose it was the best thing ye could 
 ha'e done in the circumstances." 
 
 "Fishin' !" cried Willie, watching the steam ris- 
 ing from his garments. "I was busy wi' yer
 
 A BID FOR FAME 117 
 
 speech till twa o'clock. An awfu' lot o' writin' ! 
 I had to get ma mither to dae a share." 
 
 "But but, oh, laddie, did ye no' ken that the 
 polisman got a wire an' " 
 
 "Fine! But I thought it wud be a peety to 
 waste the speech " 
 
 "But it was wasted afore ye started to copy " 
 
 Willie laughed and shook his head. "Na; it's 
 no' wasted. I had it ready in time for the 
 meeting but, of course, the reporter wasna there, 
 an' so I legged it to Greenhill." 
 
 "Greenhill?" 
 
 "I thought I wud gang an' see the man that 
 has the weekly paper there. I was jist in time, 
 for it comes oot the morn. He canna print a' 
 yer speech, he says, but he's gaun to gi'e ye a 
 column " 
 
 "A column! Laddie, are ye tellin' me that a 
 whole column o' ma speech is to be printed?" 
 
 "Jist that. The paper man said it was 
 splendid." Willie may be forgiven his suppres- 
 sion of the fact that the editor had muttered 
 something like "screamingly funny" and choked 
 a dozen times in the course of his perusal. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sat slowly down, his hand to his 
 head. "And ye've walked sixteen mile in this 
 weather to dae that for me! Oh, Wullie, but 
 ye're loyal!"
 
 ii8 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "It was a peety to waste it. Ye've burst Banks 
 this time, eh?" 
 
 "Criftens!" cried the painter. "I 'had clean 
 forgot aboot Banks. He he'll be furious. I 
 hope ye explained to the paper man that Banks 
 was in the chair." 
 
 "Oh, the paper man's gaun to put in the paper 
 that Banks said a few words," said Willie care- 
 lessly. "Banks canna speak for nuts. I heard 
 him. It was like a moose squeakin'. Gor! I 
 wud like to see his face when he gets the paper 
 the morn's nicht. The paper man's gaun to send 
 ye a dizzen copies, free." 
 
 Just then the kettle boiled over, and Mr. Red- 
 horn, curbing his excitement, hastened to concoct 
 the hot drink for his guest. 
 
 " 'Beed, I think I'll ha'e a gless masel', he said 
 suddenly; "for if this isna fame, it's dashed " 
 He paused. "It's kin' o' rough on Banks, too," 
 he muttered thoughtfully. "Weel, weel, as ye 
 grow aulder, Wullie, ye'll learn that every fly 
 has its ointment."
 
 vn 
 
 "THE WEE DUG" 
 
 BUSINESS was slack, and Mr. Redhorn, 
 egged on by his apprentice, had almost 
 decided to apply his professional energies 
 and talents to the beautifying of his own abode. 
 
 "I've been intendin' to dae it for quarter o' a 
 century," he said, in reply to one of the boy's 
 questions. "Stric'ly speakin', it's ma landlord's 
 affair, but the man has aye been that hard up 
 that I've never had the face to mention the 
 subjec' to him. It near ruined- him when the 
 frost brustit the upstairs pipes, fifteen year back, 
 an' flooded his entire property." 
 
 "But what way did ye no' jist dae it yersel'? 
 It's no' a big job." 
 
 "Procrastination, Wullie, procrastination. An' 
 it wasna the pentin' and paperin', that I dreaded ; 
 it was the necessary preparations for the same 
 the clearin' o' shelfs, an' presses, an' cupboards, 
 an' corners. I like thoroughness. But when I 
 meditated on the accumulations o' years, an' the 
 dust o' ages, as the poet says, I weel, I pro- 
 crastinated." 
 
 "Ye funked it?" 
 
 119
 
 120 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Put it that way if ye like. If ye want a 
 sma' example o' the accumulations afore men- 
 tioned, get up an' open the wee doors ablow the 
 dresser bearin' in mind that this has been ma 
 hame for near thirty year." 
 
 Willie left his seat by the hearth, and opened 
 the first of the three doors. 
 
 "What dae ye behold?" said Mr. Redhorn. 
 
 "Penny novels aboot ten thoosan' o' them. 
 What for dae ye keep them?" 
 
 "Dear knows. At the present time I'm askin' 
 masel' what for I've kep' ony o' the miscellaneous 
 trash that'll ha'e to be shifted afore we can get 
 to work. Maybe it's because I'm a single man. 
 Maybe I've hoarded rubbish because I've never 
 had onything worth the hoardin'. Try the next 
 door. I think ye'll find mair variety there. If 
 there's onything ye think worth while the an- 
 nexin', help yersel." Mr. Redhorn dropped 
 back in his chair, and lit a cigarette of the worst 
 possible quality. 
 
 Presently the apprentice put the question: 
 "What dae ye keep this for?" 
 
 "What?" said the painter, lazily. Then he sat 
 up. 
 
 The boy was holding out a heavy piece of 
 white earthenware, very dusty, on which was 
 printed in thick black letters the word 
 DOG.
 
 "THE WEE DUG" 121 
 
 "Did ye once keep a dog, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "I did," slowly the man answered, and quickly 
 added, "pro tern" 
 
 " What kin' o' dug was it?" 
 
 "If ye've ony use for the dish," said Mr. Red- 
 horn, as though he 'had not heard, "ye can tak' 
 it hame wi' ye. I've never used it I mean to 
 say, it's never been used." He got up, crossed 
 the floor, and began to rummage in a drawer. 
 "There was a collar, likewise, that was never 
 used. Oh, here it is! Ye'll maybe get a dug 
 to fit it some o' these days. It's got ma name on 
 it, but the plate could easy be changed. There 
 ye are!" 
 
 "Thenk ye. ... When was it ye had the 
 dug, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "Afore your time." The reply was curt, and 
 perhaps the man realized as much, for he added 
 kindly, "I'll maybe tell ye aboot ma the wee 
 dug anither day, Wullie, though it's no' a story 
 worth the tellin'." 
 
 Perhaps not as Joseph Redhorn would have 
 told it. But as Joseph Redhorn knew it? well, 
 it is for the reader to say. 
 
 "Afore your time," he had said to his appren- 
 tice, and the precise date is immaterial. 
 
 The thing happened in the blackest hour of
 
 122 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Mr. Redhorn's life at the blackest moment of 
 that hour. Any grown-up person in Fairport 
 could have told you how once, for a period of 
 years, the painter, apart from his day's work, 
 had appeared to be a confirmed recluse, and such 
 a person could also, doubtless, have proffered 
 theories to account for this choice of solitude. 
 The simple facts are these: Joseph had always 
 been too shy to be what is commonly termed 
 sociable, and when he first shut himself up, the 
 neighbours made no attempt to disturb him. 
 He shut himself up to begin with because he 
 had fallen into a most miserable state of health ; 
 he continued to shut himself up because in his 
 natural melancholy and loneliness he allowed his 
 bodily wretchedness to become spiritual. Simply 
 that and nothing more but that is a great deal. 
 Other men besides Joseph Redhorn have in such 
 wise been pressed to the verge and over. 
 
 It was one of those nights which we may call 
 according to our mood late autumn or early 
 winter. A tempest of wind and rain raged over 
 the loch. Doors and windows rattled, chimney- 
 cans toppled, slates and tiles hurtled from the 
 village roofs. Fairport, save one man, was abed, 
 for the hour was late, yet Fairport for the 
 greater part was awake, quaking. 
 
 Joseph Redhorn was the one man not abed, yet 
 to all appearances he had been sleeping for hours.
 
 "THE WEE DUG" 123 
 
 He sat at his kitchen table, his head in his arms. 
 Behind him was a dead fire, on his left a win- 
 dow, which each blattering gust threatened to 
 burst in, on his right the door which he was 
 shortly going to open for the last time. 
 
 The clock wheezed, and slowly, loudly, fatally, 
 told out midnight. A little later, Joseph Red- 
 horn rose stiffly. His face was ghastly in the 
 lamplight; his pale blue eyes were glazed and 
 strange. He wiped his wet brow, muttering 
 
 "God, it's nae use. I couldna thole anither 
 day. . . . There'll be naebody aboot noo. . . . 
 I'll mak' an end A man that doesna matter 
 to onybody doesna matter to onybody." He 
 crossed to the door, steadily enough, and auto- 
 matically took his hat from the peg. The house 
 shook; he appeared unconscious of any storm. 
 He turned the key. With his fingers on the 
 handle he looked back. 
 
 "Na, na. No' anither day, no' anither nicht, 
 Almighty God, I couldna thole it doesna matter 
 to onybody." 
 
 He opened the door and peered into the roar- 
 ing blackness. He heard the sound of many 
 waters. A white thing brushed over his feet. 
 He reeled and recovered his balance, and looked 
 downwards. 
 
 A little fox-terrier was crouching there, whin- 
 ing, looking up imploringly.
 
 124 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "A wee dug," he murmured weakly, staring, 
 "a wee dug. Lost like masel'." 
 
 At the softness of his voice the terrier rose, 
 placing its forepaws against his knee. 
 
 "Puir beastie!" He bent and patted its head, 
 stroked its back. "Ye've got terrible wat an' 
 dirty, wee dug. But I've got to gang awa'. What 
 am I to dae wi' ye?" 
 
 The terrier licked the back of his hand. 
 
 And something happened to Joseph Redhorn. 
 Leaning against the wall, he put his hands to his 
 face. "Ma God, ma God!" he sobbed. 
 
 Presently he closed and locked the door, and 
 signing to the terrier to follow him, went over 
 to the hearth and sat down in his easy-chair. The 
 terrier squatted on the ragged rug, shivering 
 painfully, and gazed up in his face expectantly. 
 
 "Ye're cauld perishin'," he said unsteadily, 
 for he also was shivering. "An' ye'll be hungry/' 
 He got up and fetched some biscuits, broke them, 
 and began to feed his visitor. "Ye're fair starvin' ! 
 I think I best licht the fire." 
 
 Within three minutes, thanks to a plentiful 
 supply of wood drenched with paraffin, he had a 
 glorious blaze, upon which he threw coal. 
 
 "Wee dug, yeVe surely had a lang, weary jour- 
 ney," he said, for the terrier had collapsed upon 
 its side before the warmth. "I wonder if ye 
 wud bite me if I was to gi'e ye a warm bath.
 
 "THE WEE DUG" 125 
 
 Wud ye bite me? Even so, I'll try the bath. 
 Ye're that cauld an' dirty." 
 
 The terrier made no attempt to bite him while 
 he washed it in his own tin basin. It licked his 
 face while he dried it with a warm towel. It 
 appeared to be refreshed, for it followed him 
 briskly when he went to forage for a scrap of 
 meat and a drop of milk. . . . 
 
 From the easy-chair the man watched it eat 
 its fill. When it was satisfied he said 
 
 "I wonder what they ca' ye, wee dug. There's 
 naething on yer collar but 'Marlow, Harrington 
 Hoose' an' Marlow's no' the name o' a dug, 
 an' there's nae Harrington Hoose within ten 
 miles o' Fairport. What's yer name, wee dug?" 
 
 The terrier, cocking its ears, looked as if it 
 would fain have told him; then, unexpectedly, 
 it sprang upon his knees. 
 
 "Oh, ye're fine an' cosy noo," he said, stroking 
 the smooth hair. "I suppose I'll ha'e to see the 
 polisman aboot ye in the mornin'." 
 
 An hour later he procured an old blanket, 
 wrapped his guest in it, and laid the bundle 
 before the fire, which he replenished. 
 
 How he himself passed the remainder of that 
 wild night is not to be set down here. 
 
 In the morning he approached the village con- 
 stable, who promised to make inquiries and do 
 all things possible in order to discover the owner.
 
 126 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Can I get keepin' it in the meantime?" the 
 painter asked rather anxiously. "I dinna ken a 
 thing aboot dugs." 
 
 "Same here except that I ken this yin's a 
 'she' an' no' an 'it.' Ye should speak to Mason, 
 the grocer." 
 
 So the painter went diffidently to the grocer, 
 an old man who once or twice in the past had 
 asked him to supper. 
 
 "A bonny wee thing no lang since she was 
 a pup," said the grocer. "If I was you," he 
 added, smiling, "I wud be prayin' for an acci- 
 dent to the owner." 
 
 "Maybe I am," said Joseph, and was surprised 
 by his own words. 
 
 The terrier evinced much distress when he 
 made to tie her up before going to his work. 
 Fortunately his work was out-of-doors that day, 
 a calm having followed the storm, and he de- 
 cided to take her with him. Going and return- 
 ing he met neighbours who seemed interested 
 in his new comrade; the "doggy" ones stopped 
 to ask questions, or to praise the creature's 
 "points," and they also gave advice. They said 
 she was a valuable one, but Joseph did not need 
 to be told that. 
 
 By evening he was in a curiously excited state 
 of mind. In those twelve hours he had spoken 
 socially with more people than in the past twelve
 
 "THE WEE DUG" 127 
 
 months. All the same, he spent a dreadful night 
 with himself. But the next night was not quite 
 so bad, and the next again was almost tolerable. 
 
 On the fourth night from the coming of the 
 "wee dug" he enjoyed the best rest he had had 
 for many a long month. He wakened but once, 
 and it was not an unhappy wakening. He was 
 disturbed by a tugging at the bedclothes. 
 
 "Eh, what's that? . . . Oh, it's yersel', is it? 
 What are ye wantin', wee dug?" He reached 
 down his hand in the dark, and felt the comfort- 
 ing lick. Then the terrier made springs at the 
 edge of the bed. "Was ye wantin' up? Was 
 ye f eelin' lanesome ? Come then !" He drew 
 her up to him. She nestled against him, licking 
 his face. 
 
 "Oh, wee dug," he whispered, "ye've surely 
 got a soul, for it's only the things wi' souls that 
 feel lanesome." 
 
 On the fifth and following nights she slept on 
 the bed. Joseph continued to rest well, but his 
 days were unsettled by hopes and fears hopes 
 that the owner might never turn up, fears lest 
 he should arrive at any moment. And he dis- 
 covered that these hopes and fears were sym- 
 pathetically shared by quite a number of his 
 neighbours. 
 
 Daily he held a consultation with the police- 
 man. On the tenth morning the policeman said
 
 128 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "I'm thinkin' she's yours, but wait ither three 
 days in case onything comes o' that advertisement 
 in the weekly paper." 
 
 Three days later "Is she mine noo?" the 
 painter asked in little more than a whisper. 
 
 "Wha's is she ?" the other laughed. 
 
 "But legally?" 
 
 The constable scratched his head. "If I had 
 her, she would be mine's," he said at last. "An* 
 I wud get a new collar for 'her." 
 
 The same afternoon Joseph Redhorn took 
 boat for the town across the firth. 
 
 In the early evening he returned. On his 
 way from pier to house he spoke a word to 
 nearly every person he met but only a word, 
 for he was in a great hurry. 
 
 The terrier greeted him ecstatically. He sat 
 down, wiping his eyes. 
 
 "Wee dug," he said, "yer mine's noo. Come 
 an' see if yer new collar fits. An' see the bonny 
 dish I've got for ye to drink at. Noo, nane o* 
 yer fun ! Be sober for a meenute, for I want 
 to get off that ugly auld collar. Come here, ye 
 wee rascal! ma wee dug! " 
 
 Without warning the door opened. The con- 
 stable looked in. 
 
 "Ridhorn," he said, thickly, "it's hellish but 
 a lady has come for yer wee dug." 
 
 It is doubtful if he understood the explana-
 
 "THE WEE DUG" 129 
 
 tion of the beautiful lady in the costly furs, 
 or if he noticed the great car with the pale 
 gentleman in the tonneau. They belonged to a 
 distant town. A fortnight ago they had been 
 motoring through the district. During a stop- 
 page some miles south of Fairport, the terrier 
 has disappeared, unnoticed. Many miles north 
 of Fairport they had met with an accident. The 
 gentleman had been seriously injured. The ter- 
 rier had been forgotten at first then advertised 
 for and so on and so on. . . . What did it 
 all matter to Joseph Redhorn? His "wee dug" 
 was in the beautiful lady's arms and she was 
 calling it "Judy darling/' It seemed to know her, 
 yet cried piteously to its late protector. . . . 
 
 The beautiful lady had said all that a lady 
 need say in the way of gratitude, and now she 
 fumbled at a golden bag. 
 
 Ere she could open it, Joseph's hand made a 
 pus'hing-away motion. "I've been paid," he said 
 in a strange voice. "Ye'll excuse me." And, 
 turning, 'he entered his house and shut the door. 
 
 At the end of an hour he opened it to find 
 the old grocer on his step. 
 
 "I jist cam' to say, Ridhorn, that if ye was 
 wantin' it, I could get ye a nice wee dug." 
 
 "It it's rale kind o' ye," said the painter, 
 after a little while, "but it wud never be the 
 same."
 
 The old grocer hesitated. "Weel, I can under- 
 stan' ye feelin' that way, so 111 no' say ony mair 
 aboot it. But noo the wife an' me wud like ye 
 to come an' tak' a bite o' supper. It's ready, 
 waitin' for us. Will ye come?" 
 
 Joseph was about to refuse, when something 
 welled up in his heart. "God bless ye," he said 
 suddenly; "I will." 
 
 After Willie had gone away with the dish and 
 collar and sundry articles he had fancied, Mr. 
 Redhorn sat still in the gathering dusk. And at 
 last he spoke very softly: 
 
 "Wee dug, ye're no' to think I forgot ye 
 because I gi'ed awa' the things ye never used. 
 If ye had used them, they wudna ha'e been laid 
 by wi' the rubbish no' likely, wee dug! . . . 
 ma wee dug!"
 
 VIII 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 
 
 MR. REDHORN lay back in his shabby 
 chair, his eyes half-closed, his left palm 
 pressed upon his scalp. His long, sad 
 nose looked even longer and sadder, his mous- 
 tache drooped more despondingly, than usual. At 
 brief intervals he heaved a hopeless sigh. 
 
 On the opposite side of the hearth sat 'his 
 apprentice, Willie McWattie, whom he had in- 
 vited that evening to tea and a game of draughts. 
 Strangely enough, the restless, fun-loving boy 
 had of late become a devotee of the sober game 
 much to his employer's gratification. Yet to- 
 night, though the meal was over half an hour 
 ago, Mr. Redhorn seemed to have forgotten all 
 about draughts. During tea he had glanced at 
 an evening paper, groaned, ceased eating, and re- 
 Japsed into a silence that had remained almost un- 
 broken until now. Willie was not unaccustomed 
 to his employer's fits of moodiness indeed, they 
 had been fairly frequent during the past two 
 months but the prolongation of the present spell 
 131
 
 132 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 was becoming too much for 'his patience. He 
 shuffled his feet softly, cleared his throat, and 
 remarked : 
 
 "It's gettin' near the New Year." 
 
 The clock ticked a dozen times ere Mr. Red- 
 horn signified that he had heard. 
 
 "Ay," he breathed heavily. "As ye say, 
 IVullie, it's gettin' near the New Year a season 
 o' gloomy reflections an' dire f orebodin's. Ay !" 
 His hand slid down and rested on his nose, cov- 
 ering his eyes. 
 
 There was a pause, and then Willie inquired 
 sympathetically : 
 
 "Is't the chilblains or the dyspeepsia, Maister 
 Ridhorn?" 
 
 "Both," was the curt reply. "But ye needna 
 think they're the cause o' the reflections an' fore- 
 bodin's. Ma pheesical afflictions are ill to bear, 
 laddie," the painter continued in something like 
 his own kindly voice, "but they're naething to 
 the mental species, or variety, that I've got to 
 endure chiefly through ma ain foolishness," he 
 added with a groan. 
 
 "But what's up?" the boy asked with anxiety. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn uncovered his face. He smiled 
 with exceeding bitterness. 
 
 "It's no* so much what's up as what's doon," 
 he said, and allowed his apprentice to look blank 
 for fifteen seconds or so. "Maybe," he resumed,
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 133 
 
 "I betrayed ma emotion in the midst o' ma tea 
 the nicht. Did ye notice onything when I was 
 lookin' at the paper?" 
 
 "Ay; ye grunted as if something was hurtin' 
 ye. But I thought it wud jist be the chalblains 
 on yer toes." 
 
 "Weel, ye thought wrang," said Mr. Redhorn, 
 with asperity. "I've a guid mind to keep ma 
 trouble to masel', but they say confession's guid 
 for the soul " 
 
 "Ha'e ye got them on yer sole, forbye?" 
 
 "Haud yer tongue, laddie! I'm no' referrin' 
 to chilblains at a'. I tell't ye ma affliction was 
 mental. Ma emotion on lookin' at the paper 
 the nicht was due to the fac' that Jingoes is 
 doon anither eighteenpence. Of course that 
 statement conveys naething whatever to you." 
 
 "Pm sure I dinna ken what ye're gas speak- 
 in' aboot," said Willie, a little irritably. "Ha'e 
 ye been bettin' on horses?" 
 
 "What!" Mr. Redhorn sat up. 
 
 "Weel," said Willie, abashed, "that's whaJt 
 they're sayin' aboot ye in Fairport." 
 
 "Wha's sayin' it ? Wha dares to say that aboot 
 me?" 
 
 "Danks, the fishmonger, an' an' everybody." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn gasped. "An' dae you think I'm 
 bettin' on horses, Wullie McWattie? I'm sure
 
 134 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 I've tell't ye a score o' times that I wud as sune 
 put masel' as ma siller on a 'horse !" 
 
 "Ay, but ye see ye see, ye buy a paper every 
 nicht. Ye've been buyin' a paper every nicht 
 for a while back." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn recoiled ; he smote his forehead. 
 "This," he groaned, "this is redistribution I 
 mean retribution! Ma character forbye ma 
 money is gone completely went !" 
 
 "But if ye ha'ena been bettin' on horses, 
 Maister Ridhorn," said the boy, "I'll sune let 
 Danks an' the rest ken they're tellin' falsehoods. 
 An' even if ye 'had been try in' yer luck, I wud 
 sune let them see 
 
 "Whisht, laddie I ken ye're loyal, but" 
 
 "I'll gang noo an' tell Danks " 
 
 "Na, na !" the painter cried hastily. "Let well 
 alone nae matter hoo bad it is. In this case 
 the truth isna muckle better nor what they 
 imagine aboot me. Hoo am I to explain it to 
 ye?" Mr. Redhorn stroked his nose. 
 
 "What's Jingoes, onyway?" Willie inquired. 
 
 "Jingoes," the painter replied sadly, "is He- 
 at least, it's an ile comp'ny, leemited. I'm no' 
 sure where it gets the ile if ony; but I've got 
 fifty shares in it that cost me fifty pound odds. 
 That's Jingoes !" 
 
 "Aw," murmured Willie, apparently not 
 deeply impressed.
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 135 
 
 Mr. Redhorn looked disappointed. "I sup- 
 pose ye dinna ken what a share is an' I hope, 
 for yer ain sake, ye never will," he said. "But 
 seein' I've been suspected o' bettin' on horses, 
 it's up to me, as the French says in their ain 
 tongue, of course to inform ye o' the true state 
 o' affairs. D'ye see?" 
 
 "Ay, I see," Willie answered, dubiously. "But 
 are ye no' for a game at the draughts the nicht, 
 Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "The draughts ha'e to wait. But, of course, 
 if ye dinna want to hear the truth if ye're no' 
 interested in ma woe " 
 
 "Ay; I want to hear aboot it," said Willie, 
 with forced eagerness. 
 
 "Aweel, I'll unbosom masel', as it were. . . . 
 Noo, pay attention ! If ye dinna aye understan' 
 what I'm sayin', preserve yer queries till I've con- 
 cluded ma remarks. In the first place weel, 
 I wud maybe be the better o' a dose o' the 
 Elixir." Having risen and helped himself from 
 the physic bottle on the mentelpiece, he resumed 
 his seat with a very wry face. "In the first 
 place, Wullie " 
 
 "Ye're at the second place noo." 
 
 "I'm what?" 
 
 "The Elixir was in the first place." 
 
 "Tits, laddie ! The Elixir was merely an aside, 
 as William Shakespeare says. In the first place,
 
 136 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 I'm prepared to sweer that previous to the pres- 
 ent I never bought a share in ony concern I'm 
 prepared to tak' ma solemn oath " 
 
 "I believe ye." 
 
 "It isna necessary to interrup' me. I was 
 aboot to say in ony concern excep' a burial so- 
 ciety that gaed bankrupt shortly efter obtainin' 
 ma cash. Ye micht think that wud be a lesson 
 to me, but it wasna." Mr. Redhorn heaved a 
 heavy sigh. "The years passed by, an' on the 
 first Seturday in October o' this rotten year I 
 payed ma quarterly veesit to Glesca. As is ma 
 custom, I called on McCorkindale, the ile an' 
 colour merchant, to pay ma account, an' to com- 
 plain o' the scandalous prices he had been 
 chargin' me for linseed. His sole excuse was 
 that ile was high an' still risin'. Then he changed 
 the subjec', as was maybe nateral, an' we had 
 some conversation entirely irreverent to the 
 pentin' trade, an' consumed a ceegarette apiece. 
 I was for makin' ma exit, so to speak, when he 
 gi'es a bit laugh an' says, says he: 'Ridhorn, 
 dae ye never try a flutter?' I thought he was 
 for takin' a rise oot o' me, an' I retorted in 
 these words: 'Maister McCorkindale, dae I look 
 like a man that wud risk his neck on an airy- 
 plane?'" 
 
 "Ye had him there," observed Willie, who was 
 getting tired of saying nothing.
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 137 
 
 "Weel, I thought I had but I hadna. It 
 appeared that I had misconstrued him. Accordin' 
 to Maister McCorkindale, the word 'flutter' 
 means a speculation which is jist aboot as safe 
 a game as the thing I thought it was. Then it 
 further appeared that ile s'hares was boomin', 
 as they say, on the Stock Exchange, an' was 
 likely to conteenue the performance for anither 
 five year or so. Then Maister McCorkindale 
 tell't me a lang story aboot Jingoe shares bein' 
 the best in the market. They hadna commenced 
 boomin' then, but they was expected to commence 
 at ony moment. 'Buy Jingoes/ says he, 'an ye'll 
 never regret it !' 'By Jingo,' says I, Til eat ma 
 hat first!'" 
 
 "Weel, ye had him that time, onyway," re- 
 marked the apprentice, checking a yawn. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. "Wud ye be- 
 lieve me, Wullie, the man persuaded me agin 
 ma better judgment! It took time, but he done 
 it ! The next I knew was him introducin' me to 
 a stockbroker, a weel-set-up young man wi' a 
 pleasin' smile, an' lovely collar an' cuffs, an' a 
 scent o' breath-perfumers at a penny per ounce, 
 an' a gorgeously app'inted office. He stood me 
 a ceegarette wi' a gold neb to it, an' was ex- 
 tremely affable. He kenned a' aboot Fairport, 
 for he had once passed it in his yacht, three year 
 back. An' so we cam' to business. Wullie,
 
 138 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 there's a bottle o' leemonade in the press. Help 
 yersel'." 
 
 "Thenk ye," said Willie, obeying with alacrity. 
 "An' what happened then, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "The worst !" sighed the painter. "It appeared 
 that Jingoes was then standin' aboot par par 
 bein' the price a share's supposed to be worth, 
 bar accidents, which is frequent. In this case 
 par was a pound sterlin'. The upshot was that 
 I said I wud buy fifty. At that the stockbroker 
 says to the telephone : 'Buy fifty Jingoes.' . . . 
 An' it done it! Fifty Jingoes at twinty shillin's 
 an' fowerpence-ha'penny per Jingoe! I (was 
 gettin' oot a cheque when the stockbroker said 
 it wasna necessary, an' McCorkindale said I 
 didna need to pay onything unless Jingoes gaed 
 doon fancy him sayin' that, efter assurin' me 
 they was gaun up ! But I wasna gaun in for ony 
 hanky-panky, an' I drew the cheque, an' got 
 a receipt, an' cam' awa'. Mind ye, I was neither 
 vexed nor ashamed at the time. I was puffed 
 up wi' importance an cupeedity; an' if I hadna 
 had to run for the train I wud ha'e bought masel' 
 a new necktie." Mr. Redhorn paused. 
 
 "Was that the end ?" inquired Willie, resuming 
 his seat, glass in hand. 
 
 "The end? Ye mean the beginnin'?" 
 
 "But what did ye get for yer money?" 
 
 "A month rolled on," said the painter heavily,
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 139 
 
 "an' then I got what they ca' a certeeficate. I 
 confess it was a work o' art, beautifully printed 
 on the sort o' paper ye buy butter in. I'll maybe 
 let ye see it some day. Meantime I canna endure 
 the sicht o' it. Even since I bought the shares, 
 they've been ablow par an' so ha'e I. An' noo 
 they're doon to fifteen shillin's, or thereabouts. 
 If I was sellin' them noo, I wud drap twelve 
 pound, ten. But if I dinna sell them I'll maybe 
 loss ma fifty pound. On the ither hand, Mc- 
 Corkindale says their time's comin', an', if I 
 haud on, I'll mak' a hunderd pound profit. My ! 
 it's an awfu' quandary to be in, laddie. I canna 
 sleep at nicht for thinkin' o' it. Chilblains an' 
 dyspeepsia are naething to shares. ... If I 
 could jist get back the money I paid for them !" 
 
 "If I was you," said Willie, who had gained 
 but the vaguest .notion of what his employer was 
 talking about, "I wud ha'e a try for a hunderd 
 pound." 
 
 "If I made a hunderd pound," said the painter, 
 "I wud never again be able to look ma conscience 
 in the face. For, ye see, I've aye been doon on 
 gamblin' in ony shape or form. An' if that 
 wudna be gamblin', I dinna ken what gamblin' 
 is." 
 
 "But what did ye buy the Jingoes for?" 
 
 "Weel, to tell ye the honest truth, Wullie for 
 it's nae excuse to say I lost ma heid I thought
 
 140 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 if I could mak' twinty pound off the Jingoes, 
 it wud pay for the bad debt that a certain gen- 
 tleman let me in for at the beginnin' o' the year. 
 Moreover, it's been a rotten bad year, takin' 
 it a' roun': naething but petty jobs, an* no' 
 enough o' them. Trade's been poorer nor I can 
 mind. But I shouldna ha'e let masel' be tempted ; 
 an' if I loss ma money noo, it'll be neither mair 
 nor less nor just retribution." 
 
 Willie paused in the act of raising the tumbler 
 to his lips. "I wud like fine to see ye mak' a 
 hunderd pound, Maister Ridhorn," he said. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn put up his hand. "Whisht, lad- 
 die! Forget what I've tell't ye. I had to tell 
 somebody, an' it seemed there was naebody but 
 you. . . . Fetch the draughts." 
 
 Whether or not Mr. Redhorn's confession 
 benefited his soul, it did not appear to have any 
 improving effect on his spirits. As the days 
 passed he became more melancholy, more irri- 
 table, and, what chiefly disturbed the mind of his 
 apprentice, more given to long fits of silence. 
 Hitherto his afflictions mental or "pheesical" 
 had by no means rendered him mute; on the 
 contrary, he had been often ready to discuss 
 them, and not without a certain dry humour, 
 which Willie rather enjoyed, though he did not 
 always catch the full significance thereof. At all
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 141 
 
 events, the boy preferred any conversation to 
 none, and the day's work in company with his 
 elderly employer became a dull business. Only 
 once did 'he venture to refer to Jingoes, and then 
 Mr. Redhorn cut him short, requesting him to 
 forget forthwith that such things existed in this 
 unhappy world, or words to that effect. And 
 there were no more invitations to tea or a game 
 of draughts. It is to the credit of Willie Mc- 
 Wattie that he nourished no resentment. Youth 
 does not, as a rule, dwell upon the memories of 
 past benefits, and it is highly doubtful whether 
 Willie gave a minute's reflection to the many 
 kindnesses, numerous pardons, and all the patient 
 treatment received of his master during his ap- 
 prenticeship. But he did feel sorry for his 
 master, and was ready to champion the latter's 
 name and fame against the whole of Fairport, 
 if necessary. 
 
 As for Mr. Redhorn's depression, it was far 
 from being entirely due to the depression of 
 Jingoes. To lose money was as little agreeable 
 to the painter as it is to most men, but to lose 
 reputation was a still more serious calamity. 
 The thought of his neighbours regarding him 
 as a "sportsman" rankled horribly. He might 
 just as well, he acknowledged bitterly to himself, 
 have put his money on horses; he deserved the 
 worst his neighbours could say of him. More-
 
 142 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 over, he was plagued by a suspicion that he had 
 been "done" or "diddled," as he would have 
 expressed it; and perhaps it was this that ac- 
 counted for his irritability, for hitherto he had 
 rather flattered himself on his discretion in mat- 
 ters of finance. 
 
 But the most depressing thoughts of all had 
 to do with his apprentice. He wished most fer- 
 vently that he had never confided in Willie, 
 not that he dreaded betrayal of his secret, but 
 simply because he was quite sure that Willie 
 must despise him for a fool and a hypocrite. For 
 while Joseph desired to stand well in the eyes 
 of the public i. e. the inhabitants of the village 
 and its vicinity he prized above all things the 
 respect and regard of his apprentice. And dur- 
 ing those dismal days he got into the way of 
 stealing furtive wistful glances at the boy's face, 
 compressing his lips and shaking his head, tell- 
 ing himself that Willie was now "workin' for 
 wages an' naething else." 
 
 He stopped purchasing the evening paper 
 and almost immediately, thanks to Mr. Banks 
 and his cronies, Fairport was browsing on 
 rumours of varied plausibility, but all to the 
 effect, that Redhorn, the painter, had "burst his- 
 sel' on horses" and was on the verge of financial 
 ruin. Needless to say, the gossip reached Willie's 
 ears; indeed, a youthful acquaintance went so
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 143 
 
 far as to warn Willie that he might soon be 
 "out of a job." Willie's indignation was great, 
 yet not equal to his anxiety on his master's ac- 
 count. The punch which the youthful acquaint- 
 ance promptly received upon his nose was but 
 half-hearted, and the fight that followed was 
 perfunctory so far as Willie was concerned; 
 he merely defended himself until his opponent 
 was tired out, and then went off to bathe a cut 
 lip. 
 
 "But what was it aboot?" Mr. Redhorn in- 
 quired that afternoon, speaking for almost the 
 first time that day. 
 
 "Naething," the boy replied, more curtly than 
 he intended. 
 
 There was a pause ere Mr. Redhorn said sadly : 
 "Ye ken I dinna like ye fightin', Wullie. . . . 
 But I suppose it's no' ma' place to interfere wi* 
 ye in ony way." 
 
 For the better part of a week Mr. Redhorn 
 did without a newspaper. He purchased a sup- 
 ply of penny novelettes. For many years until 
 his introduction to Jingoes he had spent most 
 of his lonely evenings in the perusal of such 
 works. But now the heroines had lost their 
 charm, the villains their thrill. For four nights 
 he persevered with the pleasure that had become 
 a task. On the fifth evening, in a storm of wind 
 and rain, he set out for Kilmabeg, the next vil-
 
 144 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 lage, about three miles distant. He arrived there 
 to find the shop of the only newsagent locked up 
 and shuttered. He came home drenched to the 
 skin. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn was wont to describe a cold in 
 the head as "the shupreme acme o' meesery." In 
 his case it was certainly always a serious affair. 
 Within twenty-four hours he was prostrated. 
 He sent word to his apprentice, bidding 'him 
 enjoy three idle days, and himself prepared for 
 strict seclusion from his fellow-creatures for a 
 like period. Huddled in his chair in front of the 
 fire, the unhappy man denied himself to all com- 
 ers, including Mr. Danks, who, it is to be feared, 
 called less out of sympathy than curiosity. 
 
 The refusal of admittance roused the fishmon- 
 ger's worst suspicions, and within an hour Fair- 
 port was whispering that the painter was already 
 bankrupt and merely feigning illness because he 
 was ashamed to appear. 
 
 There was a discreet tapping at the door. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn moved impatiently in his chair, 
 but did not answer. 
 
 The tapping was repeated several times. 
 
 "Wha's there?" the invalid at last demanded 
 crossly. 
 
 "Me." 
 
 "Wullie?"
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 145 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "Aweel, I canna let ye in the nicht." 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "Please let me in, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "What dae ye want?" 
 
 "I I've a message for ye." 
 
 "I canna attend to business the noo." 
 
 "It's no' business. Please let me in." 
 
 "Come the morn, Wullie. . . . I'm no' fit 
 to speak to ye the nicht I'm no' fit for human 
 consumption." 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 "Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "Weel, what is't?" 
 
 "If if ye dinna let me in, I'll bide here a' 
 nicht an' it's freezin' hard." 
 
 At that Mr. Redhorn rose. 
 
 "Is't important, laddie?" 
 
 "Ay terrible!" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn opened the door. "Come in 
 quick." He sneezed violently. "Are ye no' feart 
 ye get the cauld frae me?" 
 
 "Na. . . . Ma mither was bakin', an' she 
 sent ye some treacle scones." The boy laid a 
 parcel on the table. His eyes avoided his em- 
 ployer. Perhaps he didn't want to laugh. Mr. 
 Redhorn, muffled in an old overcoat and shawl, 
 with a red woollen nightcap on his head, was 
 a grotesque enough object.
 
 i 4 6 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "I'm greatly obleeged to yer mither," said the 
 painter gently. "Why did ye no' say it was a 
 message frae her?" 
 
 "It wasna the only message," replied Willie, 
 'his eyes on the floor. 
 
 "Aweel, ye best sit doon," Mr. Redhorn said, 
 pointing to a chair. "Ye'll excuse ma present 
 condeetion o' meesery. I'm sorry I've nae lee- 
 monade on the premises." He sighed, and 
 dropped into his seat. "Draw yer chair to the 
 fire." 
 
 Willie did so, still avoiding his host's glances. 
 
 "Hoo's yer cauld?" he inquired. 
 
 "It'll be worse afore it's better. But it's only 
 yin o' ma troubles." 
 
 "Ye'll be feelin' yer chilblains?" 
 
 "Ay. . . On the whole, laddie, I'm feelin' ripe 
 for the tomb. An' an' ma heart's as heavy as 
 ma heid. . . . But ye said ye had a message. 
 Wha frae?" 
 
 The boy reddened. "Me," he said at last, 
 lookingly desperately uncomfortable. 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 The painter seemed to shrink in his chair. 
 "Ha'e ye ha'e ye come to tell me ye want to 
 leave me?" he asked huskily. 
 
 "Leave ye!"
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 147 
 
 "Leave ma employment. Ye're no' bound to 
 me in ony way " 
 
 "I dinna ken what ye're talkin' aboot," said 
 Willie, regarding his host for the first time. Then 
 "Dae ye want me to leave?" he cried in great 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Na, na, laddie," Mr. Redhorn replied hur- 
 riedly, turning away to conceal his relief. "I 
 merely meant. . . . Weel, I'll say nae mair 
 aboot it." He smiled feebly. "I'm afraid I've 
 been broodin' in solitude till I ha'e got stupid 
 notions in ma heid. . . . But I'm ready to hear 
 yer message." 
 
 Once more the boy became ill at ease. 
 
 "I'm listenin'," said the painter encourag- 
 ingly. "Speak up." 
 
 Willie wet his lips. "I I bought a paper the 
 nicht," he said in a low voice. "An' I seen yer 
 Jingoes priced at three-ha'pence. I I was vexed 
 for ye." He did not mention what a puzzle the 
 financial columns had been to him. "I hope ye're 
 no offended wi' me for buyin' the paper," he 
 went on, his courage failing at the silence of the 
 other. "I I was kin' o' anxious for ye. I've got 
 five" 
 
 "Three-ha'pence!" gasped Mr. Redhorn. 
 "Aweel" bitterly, "it's as much as I deserved." 
 
 Willie looked up. "Did ye no' ken?"
 
 "I ha'ena seen a paper for a week. . . . 
 Three-ha'pence! Man, but that's deplorable!" 
 
 "M Maister Ridhorn." Willie looked down 
 again. 
 
 "Ay?" 
 
 The words came with a rush. "I've got five 
 an' thirty shillin's in the savin's bank, an' ye're 
 awfu' welcome." 
 
 It was a sight to see the red fly to the man's 
 face: "Oh, Wullie!" he whispered; and again, 
 "Oh, Wullie, Wullie ! . . . A cauld in the heid 
 aye mak's ma eyes that watery." 
 
 "Ye'll tak' it?" the boy cried eagerly. "It's 
 no' much, but 
 
 "It's a' ye've got, an' ye offer it to me ! Weel, 
 it'll tak' a lot o' affliction to mak' me forget this ! 
 Thenk ye, laddie, thenk ye. But thenk the 
 Lord, also, I dinna need yer bit honest savin's." 
 
 "Ye dinna need it?" Willie was plainly dis- 
 mayed. "Are ye are ye no' burst ruined?" 
 
 "Wha said I was ruined?" exclaimed the 
 painter. "Oh, it's no' as bad as that, an' " a 
 soft smile lit up the melancholy visage "in yin 
 respec' I'm a heap richer nor I was aweer." 
 Suddenly he laughed. "I see ye've the paper in 
 yer pooch. I'll tak' a look at Jingoes for the 
 last time." 
 
 Willie, still crestfallen, drew the paper from 
 his pocket reluctantly. "It's no' worth yer while
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 149 
 
 lookin' at it. I mind fine what it says aboot 
 Jingoes. It says Jingoes was strong at three- 
 ha'pence. I marked it wi' a pencil." He held 
 out the paper. 
 
 It was snatched from his fingers. 
 
 "What! . . . Strong!" cried Mr. Redhorn. 
 His eyes found the place. "Criftens ! Here, lad- 
 die ! Quick ! I canna see proper. What f eegures 
 is these?" 
 
 Willie went to his side. "A 'one' an' a 'half 
 three-ha' -pence." 
 
 "Na, na!" It was a shout of glee. "It's one 
 an' a half, richt enough, but it means one an' a 
 half pounds one pound, ten-thirty shillin's! 
 Jingoes is up ! boomin' !" A succession of 
 sneezes checked his excitement. "I'll sell the 
 morn," he said more calmly. "An' that'll be near 
 five an' twinty pound o' profit unless they gang 
 up furder, an' then it'll be mair. Man, Wullie, 
 is that no' splendid?" 
 
 Willie admitted this also, quite gravely. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn gave him money and sent him 
 out for lemonade, and the twain caroused until 
 near ten o'clock. 
 
 It was not until Willie had gone home that 
 Redhorn discovered that the two following days 
 happened to be holidays on the exchange. A lot 
 might happen in two days, he reflected, some- 
 what dashed, and he retired to bed considerably
 
 150 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 sobered. And when Willie called next day he 
 found his employer disinclined to talk of Jingoes, 
 though by no means steeped in the gloom of the 
 past weeks. For Mr. Redhorn was hugging in 
 secret a treasure not subject to fluctuations in 
 value nor within the influence of any purse on 
 earth. 
 
 On the third morning Mr. Redhorn journeyed 
 to Glasgow. His deeds there included the pur- 
 chasing of a new necktie. (He wore it the fol- 
 lowing Sunday, and Banks inquired if he had 
 been sober when he bought it. Mr. Redhorn 
 cheerfully confessed that he had been intoxicated 
 "in a sense," a dark saying which Banks did not 
 understand at all.) 
 
 He returned home in a painful state of sup- 
 pressed excitement. He had invited Willie to 
 tea otherwise it would not have been worth 
 setting the meal on the table. For Mr. Redhorn 
 could not eat a bite, and he used his teacup 
 chiefly for concealing strange involuntary grim- 
 aces. He spoke little, and forced himself to look 
 as miserable as possible. Willie began to fear 
 that something had gone wrong in Glasgow. 
 
 After tea Mr. Redhorn refused draughts, cov- 
 ered his eyes with his hand, and groaned several 
 times. 
 
 "Wullie," he said at last, in a voice not his
 
 FIVE AND THIRTY SHILLINGS 151 
 
 own, "was ye in earnest, when when ye offered 
 me yer money?" 
 
 The boy was taken aback, but quickly recov- 
 ered himself. "For sure," he said. 
 
 "Because I I ha'e need o' it, efter a'," said 
 the painter. "An' I wud rather ye didna ask 
 me ony questions." 
 
 Willie got up. "It's lucky this is the nicht the 
 bank's open," he said. "I'll be back in ten meen- 
 utes." 
 
 "Thenk ye, laddie," said Mr. Redhorn, and 
 let him go without another word. 
 
 As the door closed the man bowed his face 
 in his hands. 
 
 Willie placed a pound-note, a half-sovereign, 
 and three pieces of silver in his employer's hand. 
 
 "Thenk ye, laddie," said the painter once 
 more, and his voice shook. 
 
 "Ye're welcome," returned the boy, wondering 
 whether he should go or stay. 
 
 "Sit doon, Wullie." 
 
 Willie obeyed, wishing he could say something 
 comforting. But that was beyond him. He got 
 as far as "Never heed, Maister Ridhorn," and 
 stuck. 
 
 Then the man spoke in a jumpy sort of voice. 
 "When I got to Glesca the day," he said, "Jin- 
 goes had rose above two pound. I got rid o'
 
 152 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 mine at fifty pound profit. Here's the fifty 
 pound or at least a deposit receipt wi' the 
 Bank o' Scotland for the same. Tak' a look at 
 it." He passed the document to his apprentice. 
 "Ye'll observe yer name on it." He rose ab- 
 ruptly and went to the door. "Ye'll maybe find 
 it usefu' some day. But dinna ever try to mak' 
 money the way it was made. I'm gaun for a 
 stroll, Wullie. Jist gang hame when it suits 
 ye. We'll ha'e the draughts anither nicht." He 
 stepped out into the darkness. "Guid nicht." 
 
 "Fifty pound !" the boy panted softly, running 
 to tell his mother. "Fifty pound !" 
 
 "Five an' thirty shillin's," muttered the man, 
 standing by the sea-wall in the silence and pri- 
 vacy of the night, "an' it was a* he had. God, 
 but it's a fortune!"
 
 IX 
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 
 
 OF the few passengers to disembark from 
 the yellow-funnelled steamer on a 
 certain fine March evening, Mr. Red- 
 horn was the last. Apart from the fact that 
 he was not a pushful person in any circum- 
 stances, he was burdened with two bulky par- 
 cels containing rolls of wall-paper purchased 
 that day in the city. Mr. Redhorn was tired. 
 He had a moderate headache, the effect of the 
 city's racket plus a twopenny mutton pie con- 
 sumed in haste after a seven hours' fast. His 
 feet were very cold "perishin','' as he would 
 have described them. Altogether he was ready 
 for his carpet slippers, easy-chair and fireside, 
 also a cup of tea and, perchance, a dose of the 
 Elixir. 
 
 Therefore he looked none too well pleased 
 when the piermaster, having received his penny, 
 took his arm and, with furtive glances in the 
 direction of the village, drew him into the little 
 office, saying: "I've something to say to ye, 
 Joseph." 
 
 153
 
 154 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Is't important, Tammas?" 
 
 "It's aboot Danks, the fishmonger," the pier- 
 master replied with much solemnity of manner. 
 
 "Oh dear me!" sighed Mr. Redhorn wearily. 
 "I'm no' interrested in Danks this evenin' even 
 if he has been playin' another o' his dirty tricks 
 on me. I'm no' interrested in ony human bein', 
 nor in onything animal, vegetable or mineral, 
 excep' Joseph Ridhorn. I'm ower wearied. So 
 I'll bid ye guid nicht, or adieu whichever ye 
 prefer." 
 
 "Haud on, man!" cried the piermaster, catch- 
 ing him by the sleeve. "I'm gled to hear ye 
 say ye're no' interrested in Peter Danks !" The 
 words were uttered most impressively. 
 
 "Eh?" Mr. Redhorn's expression became 
 more alert. "What dae ye mean, Tammas? 
 There's mair in yer remark nor meets the 
 eye." 
 
 "I mean exac'ly what I say, an' I hope ye'll 
 tak' it as a frien'ly hint." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stared. "A frien'ly hint?" 
 
 "Jist that," said Thomas a trifle impatiently. 
 "Ye're a saft-hearted sort o' chap, Joseph," he 
 went on mildly, "an' although Danks an' you 
 ha'e been enemies as far back as I can mind, 
 if Danks was comin' on ye sudden-like for to 
 borrow a hunderd pound 
 
 "Tits, man ! what are ye talkin' aboot ? Danks
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 155 
 
 borrow a hunderd pound? Ye'll see him ridin' 
 an elephant first!" 
 
 "Weel, I can only assure ye that some o' us 
 in Fairport I needna mention names ha'e been 
 asked to lend the sum I've mentioned." 
 
 "To Peter Banks?" Mr. Redhorn let fall one 
 of his parcels. 
 
 "Ay, to Peter Banks. . . . An' I thought I 
 wud jist gi'e ye a hint " 
 
 "But but Banks is the solidest man in Fair- 
 port!" 
 
 "So it has been supposed," said the piermas- 
 ter drily. "Of course, what I'm tellin' ye is 
 confeedential." 
 
 "Oh, I'm as secret as the tomb," Mr. Red- 
 horn returned, ^stroking his nose. "But I'm 
 stupefied. I canna comprehend it, Tammas." 
 Suddenly he peeped through the small window. 
 "See! Thonder's Banks at his door, chattin* wi' 
 his cronies; jist the same as he's been daein' 
 every fine evenin' for twinty year. I'm thinkin' 
 he's been takin' a rise oot o' you an' the others." 
 
 Thomas shook his head. "Banks there is daein' 
 his best to keep up appearances. His cronies 
 ken naething aboot his affairs; naebody in Fair- 
 port does, excep' you an' me an' twa-three ithers. 
 But the man's in a bad way desperate for cash. 
 . . . Aweel, I've warned ye, Joseph, an' the 
 subjec' is closed at ween us."
 
 156 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "An* I'm obleeged to ye, Tammas, though in a 
 way yer warnin' 's wasted, for Danks wud never 
 come to me no' if he was on the verge of bank- 
 ruptcy. Weel, I'll be movin' hame." The 
 painter recovered hold of his parcel, bade his 
 friend goodnight, and left the office. 
 
 In order to reach his abode it was necessary 
 to pass by the fish-shop. To all appearances 
 Mr. Danks was swelling with as much impor- 
 tance as ever, and his harsh sneering laugh fell 
 more than once on the painter's ears. Yet, for 
 the first time in many years, Mr. Redhorn was 
 spared the mental exertion of producing a smart 
 retort to his enemy's sarcastic personal ramarks. 
 With a nod to the group of idlers, who were 
 plainly astonished at the fishmonger's silence, 
 he proceeded to his bachelor abode, where to his 
 surprise and gratification, he discovered Willie, 
 his apprentice, in the act of preparing tea. 
 
 "Wullie !" he cried, "this is rael kind o' ye." 
 
 "I had a message for ye aboot that paper for 
 Miss Grogan's bedroom," the boy replied, "an' 
 I thought I micht as weel come early an' get 
 ready yer tea. An' here" he took a glass from 
 the mantelpiece "here's a dose o' the Elixir. 
 I thought ye wud be the better o' it efter yer day 
 in Glesca." 
 
 "Upon ma word," said Mr. Redhorn, accept- 
 ing the dose, though somewhat staggered by his
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 157 
 
 apprentice's attention, "I'm fair amazed at yer 
 thoughtfulness, laddie. Here's to ye!" 
 
 "Oh, that's a' richt," said Willie easily. "It's 
 guid for ye, an' I like fine to see ye makin' 
 faces." 
 
 When a full week had elapsed without any- 
 thing special happening to stimulate the gossips 
 of Fairport, Mr. Redhorn began to doubt the 
 accuracy of the piermaster's estimate of the 
 fishmonger's financial condition, and at the end 
 of three weeks he decided that the Danks panic 
 had been either merely temporary or (which was 
 far more likely) an elaborate piece of "codding" 
 on that sardonic person's part. He had known 
 Danks for many years as the most close-fisted 
 person in the village; he was aware that five 
 years ago Danks had inherited a couple of thou- 
 sand pounds; moreover, Danks, like himself, 
 was a bachelor without a dependent. The 
 painter was not the sort of man who finds en- 
 tertainment in prying into and discussing his 
 neighbours' business; indeed, he shrank from 
 revelations of all kinds, but more especially 
 from those of an unhappy nature. So he made 
 no enquiries and let the matter slip from his 
 mind, gladly enough.
 
 On the evening of the first of April Mr. Red- 
 horn sat at his untidy fireside trying to darn a 
 sock. The atmosphere around him was redo- 
 lent of eucalyptus. He was beginning to recover 
 from what he called his "annual Spring cauld 
 in the heid," which had kept him indoors for 
 the past three days. As he was wont to explain 
 to those who accused him of malingering, there 
 were, doubtless, professions for which a clear 
 head was unnecessary, but the painting trade 
 was not one of them; also, he was not going to 
 risk his reputation as a paper-hanger and deco- 
 rator by sneezing in the midst of a delicate op- 
 eration; finally, no other human head had ever 
 been afflicted with such a cold as his it was 
 unique in the annals of influenza. 
 
 Mr. Red'horn regarded the sock in his hand 
 with extreme disfavour. "There'll sune be nane 
 o' the oreeginal left," he muttered. "Darns, 
 darns, darns! Oh, for the moral courage to 
 fling it in the fire !" 
 
 He threw it under the table instead and took 
 up a penny novelette with a coloured frontispiece 
 depicting a very dark gentleman about to stab 
 a very fair lady without giving her time to 
 put up her hair. The title was "False yet 
 True." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn read steadily for five minutes, 
 and then returned the novelette to the shelf at
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 159 
 
 the side of the fireplace. "It's no' as guid as 
 usual," he reflected, "or else ma passion for 
 literature is failin'." He sighed heavily. 
 
 The truth was, Mr. Redhorn was seriously de- 
 pressed. No doubt his cold, and perhaps also 
 the sock, had contributed to his gloom, but the 
 primary cause was his apprentice. For Willie 
 had accepted an invitation to draughts and lem- 
 onade for seven-thirty prompt, and it was now 
 near to nine o'clock. An hour ago Mr. Redhorn, 
 glancing out of the window, prior to lowering 
 the blind, had observed the boy in earnest con- 
 versation with a damsel of about his own age, 
 fifteen, and not lacking in personal charms. 
 
 "H'm! I suppose it had to come suner or 
 later," the painter drearily soliloquised, as the 
 little scene now recurred to him. "In the Spring, 
 accordin' to the poet Byron, a young man's fancy 
 turns to thoughts o' love. Aweel, it's better 
 nor bettin' on horses, onyway. An' I dare say 
 it's maybe mair excitin' nor draughts. Ay, 
 youth's a fine thing, an' even auld age has been 
 said to ha'e its beauties. But middle-age, wi' a 
 cauld in the heid an' a tendency to dyspeepsia, 
 no' to mention chilblains, lumpy socks an' nae 
 comp'ny middle-age, I declare, is Come in, 
 come in ! The door's no' bolted." 
 
 Willie entered, panting, his eyes shining. 
 
 "Sit doon, laddie," said Mr. Redhorn, with less
 
 160 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 cordiality of tone than the apprentice was ac- 
 customed to. 
 
 "I couldna come ony earlier," Willie gasped, 
 seating himself. "I've been that busy gatherin' 
 news. I've got some rare news for ye." 
 
 "I preshume," the painter remarked ironically, 
 "ye ha'e deigned to appear in order to inform me 
 o' yer approachin' nuptials." 
 
 "I dinna ken what ye're gassin' speakin' 
 aboot," returned Willie. "I cam' to tell ye that 
 Danks is burst." 
 
 "Eh? what's that?" 
 
 "I'm sayin', Danks is burst." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn recovered himself. "Tits, lad- 
 die! that's an auld canary! Wha has been cod- 
 din' ye?" he coolly enquired. 
 
 "There's nae coddin' aboot it," was the in- 
 dignant reply. "It's the solemn truth. It's a' 
 through Fairport. If ye hadna had the cauld 
 in yer nose ye wud ha'e heard aboot it afore 
 noo." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. "Na, na, Wullie. 
 Ye've been the victim o' a rumour which is en- 
 tirely devoid o' foondation. Danks is no' the 
 sort to burst." 
 
 "But he is burst as sure as ye're sittin' there," 
 the boy asserted. "I heard it first frae Jessie 
 Forrest, when I was comin' to see ye, an' then 
 I went an' listened to different folk to see what
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 161 
 
 I could hear. They were a' speakin' aboot Danks. 
 He's been gettin' the lend o' money, an' he 
 canna pay it back, an' " 
 
 "That'll dae, laddie." Mr. Redhorn rose. "I'll 
 return in twa meenutes. Ye'll find a bottle o' 
 leemonade in the press," he said, and hurrying 
 to the door, snatched his cap from a peg and left 
 the house. 
 
 The piermaster's abode was almost next door, 
 and the piermaster was at home. 
 
 "Ay, it's true," he said in answer to the paint- 
 er's question. "Ye wouldna believe me afore, 
 Joseph, but I was richt. Danks has been specu- 
 latin' in secret for years an' lossin' a' he made 
 at his business an' a heap mair besides. He's 
 been borrowin' frae moneylenders, an' he's had 
 a bill dishonoured. I was tell't the day that his 
 name is in this week's black list " 
 
 "What? The Black List that vilest publica- 
 tion o' modern ceevilization !" 
 
 "The same," said Thomas. "An' I ken for a 
 fac' that if Danks canna produce twa hunderd 
 pound by the morn's mornin', he's a done man. 
 An* he's that already, for wha's gaun to trust 
 him wi' twa hunderd pound? No' me, nor you 
 either, I'm thinkin' !" 
 
 A short pause, and Mr. Redhorn enquired: 
 "Ha'e ye seen him the nicht?" 
 
 "No* to speak to. I gaed up to the shop wi'
 
 162 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 the intention o' speakin', but the door was shut, 
 an' when I keeked through the wee hole in the 
 shutters I seen him sittin' there wi' his heid in 
 his han's an' so I turned an' cam' awa'. God! 
 I was kin' o' vexed for the man, though I never 
 liked him." 
 
 "Sittin' there," said Mr. Redhorn musingly, 
 "surrounded by his faithful but helpless fish 
 criftens! it's a sad job." 
 
 "It is ; but he's only got hissel' to blame. He 
 canna expec' us to help him noo. There's nae- 
 body in Fairport wi' siller to put in a sinkin' 
 ship." 
 
 "True, Tammas, true," the painter slowly ad- 
 mitted. "Weel, I'll awa' back to" 
 
 "He hasna been at you has he?" suddenly 
 asked the piermaster. 
 
 "Na, na. He kens better nor to come to me." 
 And Mr. Redhorn retreated to his own abode. 
 
 "Wullie," he said on entering, "I owe ye an 
 apology, for it appears that yer report was only 
 too true." With a sigh he sank into his chair. 
 
 Willie stared at him over his tumbler of lemon- 
 ade. "Are ye no' pleased, Maister Redhorn?" 
 
 "Pleased! What for wud I be pleased?" 
 
 "The man's burst!" 
 
 "Laddie," said Mr. Redhorn, heavily, "the 
 spectacle o' a human bein' feenancially exploded
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 163 
 
 is mair excruciatin' to ma feelin's than onything 
 in Shakespeare or 'East Lynne'." 
 
 "But but ye hate the man." 
 
 "Even hatred has its leemits. Ye wouldna 
 hit a man when he was doon, wud ye, Wullie?" 
 
 "Wha said I wud? But I wudna be sorry 
 for him, if I hated him, an' if he had played me 
 dirty tricks." 
 
 "An' if ye wudna 'hit him, what wud ye dae ?" 
 
 "Let him lie." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sighed and stroked his nose. 
 "Onybody could dae that," he said at last. 
 
 Willie regarded his master enquiringly. 
 "What wud you dae?" 
 
 "Dear knows. . . . But it maun be an awfu' 
 thing to ha'e to pay in every mortal way 
 excep' in cash. Ye're ower young to under stan' 
 what I mean, Wullie." 
 
 "I understan' fine what ye're drivin' at. Ye 
 mean that Danks'll ha'e to gi'e up his shop an* 
 everything. Serves him richt!" 
 
 "Come, come, laddie! what has Danks ever 
 done to you?" 
 
 "He's tried to mak' mischief atween you an' 
 me. He's" 
 
 "That's true enough. But, ye see, he was 
 annoyed at me for takin' you on as apprentice 
 instead o' his nephew. I daresay he's forgotten 
 a' aboot that by noo."
 
 164 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "He's tried to mak' a cod o' you heaps o' 
 times, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "I've aye been able to defend masel'. Wi'oot 
 undue immodesty, I think I may say I've aye 
 managed to confound him suner or later. Ye 
 can conseeder us quits, Danks an' me." 
 
 "I believe ye're stickin' up for the man!" 
 cried Willie. "I didna think ye was sae saft." 
 
 "Aw!" murmured the painter, and fell to 
 stroking his nose again. 
 
 "I believe," the boy pursued with sudden con- 
 viction, "I believe ye wud try to gi'e Danks a 
 leg up, if ye wasna afraid." 
 
 "Afraid! Afraid o' what?" demanded Mr. 
 Redhorn. 
 
 The boy hesitated, looking uneasy. "Afraid o' 
 what the folk wud say," he mumbled. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn drew a long breath, expelled it, 
 and said : "By Jupiter, ye've hit the nail on the 
 heid !" Putting his hand over his eyes, he lay 
 back in his chair. 
 
 The long silence that followed was broken 
 by Willie. 
 
 "Maister Ridhorn, I I didna mean to vex 
 ye." 
 
 "Ye didna vex me. . . . But what wud you 
 say if I was to try to gi'e Danks a leg up, as 
 ye expressed it?" The painter looked through 
 his fingers at his apprentice.
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 165 
 
 The latter shook his 'head and shut his mouth 
 as much as to signify that he was not going to 
 commit himself this time. 
 
 "Wud ye say I was daft?" 
 
 "N no' exac'ly." 
 
 "Wud ye say I was saft?" 
 
 "Something like that." 
 
 "I suppose that's what a' the folk wud say?" 
 
 Willie nodded reluctantly. 
 
 "Oh, criftens!" groaned the painter, "what a 
 terrify in' thing is public opeenion, an' yet it's 
 no' once a week that it's worth a damn! . . . 
 I beg yer pardon, laddie, for usin' a bad word." 
 
 "I'm no' heedin'," said Willie reassuringly. 
 "Maybe it helps ye." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn ignored the remark. "Wullie," 
 be bitterly declared, "I'm a poltroon!" 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "A poltroon is a species o' coward." 
 
 "Oh, I thought it was a kin' o' beast a sort 
 o' monkey. But what for are ye callin' yersel' 
 names, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "Because I ha'ena the moral courage to gi'e 
 Danks a leg up." 
 
 "I suppose ye wud never get yer money back." 
 
 "That's no' precisely the p'int," said the 
 painter, a trifle shortly. 
 
 "Is't no?" 
 
 "I dinna mean to suggest that I'm keen on
 
 166 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 lossin' money quite the obverse; but I would 
 rayther loss money nor ha'e folk think I had 
 lost it. Ye see?" 
 
 Willie prevented a yawn with a timely gulp of 
 lemonade. "I dinna see the sense in that," he 
 remarked, wiping his lips on his sleeve. "But 
 ye could easy loss money wi'oot folk kennin' 
 onything aboot it." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. "There's nae 
 secret safe frae the Almighty an' the public of 
 Fairport. Suner or later they wud find oot 
 that I had gi'ed Danks a leg up." 
 
 "But ye're no' really gaun to gi'e him a leg 
 up?" 
 
 The painter blushed, rose and took a cigar- 
 ette from a packet on the mantelpiece. He lit 
 it with deliberation. 
 
 On recovering from a severe fit of choking 
 and coughing he said: "Wullie, if you was 
 standin' on the pier thonder, an' yer worst enemy 
 fell into the water, wud ye no' throw him a rope ? 
 . . . Of course ye wud! If necessary, ye wud 
 even plunge in to the rescue. Ye wud risk yer 
 life" 
 
 "Wud I?" 
 
 "We'll say ye wud, for the sake of argument." 
 Mr. Redhorn's tone was a little impatient. "An* 
 then, when ye had saved yer worst enemy, the 
 public wud cry 'hurray !' an' ca' ye a noble char-
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 167 
 
 acter. . . . But, supposin' yer worst enemy 
 was strugglin' in the ocean o' feenancial deefi- 
 culties, an' ye threw him yer purse " 
 
 "I never had a purse." There was no stop- 
 ping the yawn this time. "An' what if it missed 
 him?" 
 
 "Oh, me!" cried the painter, "d'ye no' ken 
 a metaphor when ye hear it?" He glanced at 
 the clock. "Tits! it's time ye was awa' hame 
 to yer bed. Yer mither'll be wonderin' what's 
 keepin' ye. Awa' wi' ye!" 
 
 "I didna' mean to offend ye," said the boy, 
 rising and laying the empty tumbler on the table. 
 
 "Ye didna offend me. . . . But ye're ower 
 young to appreciate ma present painful posee- 
 tion, an' so " 
 
 "But but " 
 
 "Gang!" 
 
 Confused and crestfallen, Willie took up his 
 cap and obeyed. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn threw the cigarette into the fire 
 and himself into the easy-chair. 
 
 "I needna ha'e lost ma temper," he reflected, 
 presently. "I shouldna 'ha'e expected him to 
 grasp ma physicological ( ?psychological) obser- 
 vations. I couldna ha'e grasped them masel' at 
 his age. But oh crif tens ! what am I to dae ? 
 Public opeenion. ..."
 
 i68 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 A shy tapping at the door startled him. He 
 rose, unsteady and rather pale. Was it Danks 
 come to him as a last desperate resource? He 
 feared yet hoped it was. 
 
 But when he had opened the door behold! 
 Willie once more. 
 
 "Wh what is it, laddie?" he stammered. 
 
 "I thought ye wud maybe like to hear aboot 
 Danks." 
 
 "What aboot him noo?" 
 
 "The lamp was burnin' in the shop, so I had 
 a squint through the hole in the shutter. Danks 
 was sittin' at the counter " 
 
 "Still? . . . What was he daein'? Writin'?" 
 
 "Na; he was jist daein' naething." 
 
 "What was he lookin' like?" 
 
 "I couldna see his face. He had his arms on 
 the coonter, an' his face was doon on them. 
 Maybe he was sleepin'." 
 
 "Maybe," said the painter with melancholy 
 irony. "I daresay he's been sleepin' extra soun' 
 recently! ... Is that a* ye've got to tell me, 
 laddie?" 
 
 "Ay; excep' ..." 
 
 "Excep' what?" 
 
 "He he looked queer as if he had got 
 wee'er." 
 
 "Wee er ! Hoo dae ye mean, Wullie ?" 
 
 "Weel, I used to think he was a great big man,
 
 HIS OLD ENEMY 169 
 
 an' noo he looks as if he had jist as if he had 
 got burst." 
 
 "God!" said the painter under his breath, 
 "surely he hasna. . . . Laddie, did ye see him 
 move?" 
 
 "Whiles he gi'ed a bit jerk." 
 
 "The Lord be thankit!" Mr. Redhorn took 
 the puzzled apprentice by the arm. "Come in- 
 side for. a meenute. I'll apologise to yer mither 
 the morn." 
 
 While Willie stood blinking his employer 
 found writing materials and indited the follow- 
 ing note 
 
 "Fairport, 
 April i. 
 
 I can lend you 200 payable back when you 
 can. 
 
 J. Redhorn." 
 
 "Wullie," he said, softly thumping the flap of 
 the envelope, "ye behold me riskin' ma reputa- 
 tion as a sober man o' business. But for the 
 moment I can honestly declare I dinna care that" 
 he smote the table "for public opeenion!" 
 
 "Ye near upset the ink-pot." 
 
 "If I had it wud ha'e made nae difference to 
 ma statement." Mr. Redhorn arose, and placed 
 the letter in the boy's hand. "Carry that to 
 Peter Danks. Chap at the door till he opens. 
 See that he reads the enclosed communication at 
 once. Then report to me."
 
 i;o THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "Are ye gi'ein' him a leg up, efter a'?" 
 "March!" commanded the painter. 
 Left to himself he reseated himself at 'the 
 table, his head between his hands. The supreme 
 moment of exaltation had passed, yet he did 
 not regret what he had done. 
 
 "Ye've been a lang time, laddie." 
 
 "It was a lang time afore he opened the door." 
 
 "Ye delivered the letter?" 
 
 "Ay ; I think he thought it was an accoont for 
 pentin'; so I tell't him it wasna." 
 
 "An' then?" 
 
 "He opened it." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn's countenance was working in a 
 curious fashion. "What did he say?" came the 
 question, shakily. 
 
 "Naething." 
 
 "Naething?" 
 
 "He jist made faces an' waved me oot o' the 
 shop." 
 
 "Made faces?" 
 
 "Ay," said the boy, awkwardly. 
 
 A short pause. 
 
 "What sort o' faces, Wullie?" 
 
 "Same as you're m makin'." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 But Willie turned and fled, for he realized 
 that he was making faces, too.
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 
 
 WITH the assistance of a stout walking- 
 stick, Mr. Redhorn hobbled painfully 
 across the floor, and with sundry 
 grunts deposited himself in the easy-chair by the 
 cold hearth. With additional and more forcible 
 grunts he slowly lifted his right leg to the sup- 
 port afforded by a derelict packing-case branded 
 with the name of a famous champagne firm. 
 Having secured comparative ease, he looked up 
 at the clock, muttered : "Efter ten ! What keeps 
 the wumman?" and dropped his gaze to the 
 grate full of last night's ashes. He poked the 
 ashes, in the absurd hope that a spark might 
 have survived. 
 
 A tap at the door he answered with a curt 
 "Come in!" and presented a decidedly cross 
 countenance for the reception of Mrs. Mc- 
 Fadyen, the neighbor to whom, for twenty years, 
 he had paid a weekly sum for services which 
 she described as "cleanin', tidyin', an' reddin' 
 up generally." 
 
 But it was not Mrs. McFadyen who entered. 
 171
 
 i;2 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Over the threshold" stepped briskly a girl of 
 fifteen or thereabouts. She wore a pink blouse, 
 faded but fresh-looking, and an apron of sack- 
 cloth covering her short, dark skirt. Her abun- 
 dant black hair was tied with a scrap of pink 
 ribbon in a trim pigtail. She possessed a prettily 
 browned complexion, and she carried herself 
 with the confidence of a reigning beauty. 
 
 "Guid mornin'!" she said calmly, and closed 
 the door. 
 
 "Mornin'!" replied the painter. "If it's a job 
 I'm wanted for, I'm sorry I'm no' able. Wha 
 sent ye, lassie?" 
 
 "Mistress McFadyen at least, she didna 
 exac'ly send me, but she said I could come if I 
 liked. I'm Agnes Eraser." 
 
 "I ken wha ye are weel enough. But what's 
 up wi' Mistress McFadyen?" 
 
 "She's awa' to Glesca." The girl moved for- 
 ward. "Ha'e ye no' had ony breakfast?" she 
 inquired, nodding her head at the fireplace. 
 
 "I was waitin' fer her. As ye see, I'm kin' 
 o' helpless. Fell off a ladder yesterday. Micht 
 ha'e had mair sense at ma time o' life. The 
 doctor says " 
 
 "Ay, I ken aboot that. But first I'll get the 
 fire started, an' then I'll explain aboot Mistress 
 McFadyen. Where dae ye keep the sticks?" She 
 was rolling up her sleeves as she spoke.
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 173 
 
 Mr. Redhorn told her. 
 
 "But I want to ken hoo ye happen to be here," 
 he began. 
 
 "Patience, patience," she returned mildly, and 
 went to work. 
 
 It was not until she had got the fire going 
 and the kettle in position that she explained her 
 presence, and she did so while washing her hands 
 at the sink. 
 
 "Mistress McFadyen got word this mornin* 
 that an auld auntie o' hers in Glesca was badly 
 no' expected to recover, an' so on." 
 
 "I'm vexed to hear that," the painter remarked, 
 with that very human sympathy which comes 
 none the less freely along with a sense of per- 
 sonal comfort. 
 
 "Oh, ye needna be vexed for her ! She's ex- 
 pectin' to be left a heap o' siller fully a thoosan' 
 pound. I happened to be on the pier when she 
 was waitin' for the boat, an' I seen she was ter- 
 rible excited. It was easy seen she had forgot 
 aboot everything else but the siller. So jist 
 when the boat was comin' to the pier, I gangs 
 up to her an' says, says I: 'What aboot the 
 penter an' 'his game leg?' Ye should ha'e seen 
 her face then, Maister Ridhorn! 
 
 " 'Mercy me !' she cried, 'if I ha'ena been an* 
 clean forgot a' aboot him! \Veel, he'll jist ha'e 
 to manage for hisselV
 
 174 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "I thought she had a queer neck on her to 
 speak that way efter a' the cash she's had oot 
 o* you, so I says to her, says I : 'If ye'll excuse 
 me, Mistress McFadyen, for speakin' ma mind, 
 ye micht ha'e had the decency to get somebody 
 to tak' yer place, for it's no' fair to leave an' 
 auld man wi' a game leg to fend for hissel', 
 espaycially as ' ' ; 
 
 "I'm no' that auld, lassie," Mr. Redhorn in- 
 terrupted with some irritation. 
 
 "Tits, man! I was jist rubbin' it in to mak' 
 her feel uncomfortable. Of course ye're no' 
 an auld man really, though ye're nae chicken, 
 either." Having dried her hands, Agnes made 
 an assault on a cupboard. "The fire'll no' mak' 
 toast for ages. Wud ye like me to rin oot for 
 rolls,, or will breid an' butter an' a biled egg 
 content ye?" 
 
 "That'll dae fine, lassie." 
 
 "Ma name's Agnes, whiles Aggie. Please 
 yersel'. It's time ye had a clean table-cloth." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn blushed. 
 
 "There's a clean yin some place, but oh, 
 never heed it the noo. What did Mistress Mc- 
 Fadyen say?" 
 
 "She tell't me to mind ma ain business. Oh, 
 she was gey angry. But I tell't her to keep 'her 
 hair on, an* asked her if she wud gi'e me the job. 
 At that she looked roun' to see if there was
 
 AN INTRUSION.QF_YOUTH 175 
 
 naebody else she could gi'e the job to, but seem- 
 in'ly there wasna, an' by this time the boat was 
 at the pier. So she said, sulky-like, that I could 
 dae the work if I wanted, an' she wud pay me 
 hauf what she got frae you. I was that angry 
 that when she was crossin' the gangway, I cried 
 efter her: 'Yer money perish with ye!' which 
 was the text last Sabbath. Some o' the folk 
 laughed, an' she got a rid face, but the boat 
 started afore she was ready wi' ony back-chat, 
 an' weel, that's ma story ended! Dae ye like 
 yer egg saf t or hard, Maister Ridhorn ?" 
 
 "Saft. . . . I'm sure I'm greatly obleeged to 
 ye for thinkin' aboot me in ma helpless condee- 
 tion, A Agnes," Mr. Redhorn said diffidently, 
 "but I could wish ye hadna been sae severe on 
 Mistress McFadyen, though I confess she had 
 a fair impiddence to offer ye but hauf her 
 'her salary. But I'll put that richt for ye." 
 "Maister Ridhorn!" 
 
 "Eh? What is it, lassie I mean Agnes?" 
 "I didna come here for money." This was 
 uttered with the utmost haughtiness of tone and 
 manner. "Besides" with a sudden descent to 
 mildness "ma brither said, if I took money frae 
 you, he wud break ma neck." 
 
 "Yer brither? What has he to dae wi' it?" 
 "Ma brither Peter. It was him ye got the job 
 in the ileworks in Glesca. He's hame for his 
 holiday."
 
 176 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "But bless me, that was naething to dae for 
 the lad. He was welcome," said Mr. Redhorn, 
 who was always sadly embarrassed by anything 
 suggestive of gratitude. "Did ye consult yer 
 fayther aboot comin' here?" 
 
 Agnes, cutting bread, nodded. 
 
 "And what did he say ?" 
 
 "Said I was to dae ma best for ye, an' behave 
 masel'. Hoo mony slices can ye shift?" 
 
 "Aw, a slice'll dae," said Mr. Redhorn, with 
 a glance at the slab now being buttered. "I'm 
 no' extra hungry this mornin'. I I'm feelin' 
 kin' o' overwhelmed wi' yer kindness. If ma 
 apprentice, Wullie, hadna been awa' for his holi- 
 day, I dare say he wud ha'e been helpin' me." 
 
 "I dare say he wud try, but I wud like to see 
 his notion o' puttin' a hoose in order." 
 
 "But you're no' gaun to dae that ? The place 
 can stan' till Mistress McFadyen comes back. 
 It's no' what ye micht term the acme o' tidiness 
 it never is ; but at ma time o' life a man canna 
 be ower parteec'lar espaycially when he's a 
 bachelor." 
 
 With a swift survey of the room, Agnes said: 
 "I wonder hoo ye can thole it." 
 
 "Thole what, A Agnes?" 
 
 "Dae ye like yer tea strong?" 
 
 "Jist middlin'. But what" 
 
 "Oh, we'll no' speak aboot disagreeables till 
 ye've had yer breakfast."
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 177 
 
 Presently she brought the table to his side, 
 and proceeded to serve the modest meal. 
 
 "Does Mistress McFadyen cook for ye?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 "Na, na; I've aye done that for masel'. She 
 made me a cup o' tea last nicht, efter the doctor 
 had left me, but that was the first time. I man- 
 age fine masel', as a rule." 
 
 "I'm thinkin' it's an awfu' life ye lead," re- 
 marked Agnes. "I never could understan' what 
 a girl wants to get married for, but I see noo 
 what mak's a man keen on it. Dae ye live on 
 tinned things?" 
 
 "No' exclusively," replied Mr. Redhorn; "but 
 I confess tinned things is handy for a man in 
 ma poseetion. My! ye've made this egg rale 
 nice, A Agnes! I ha'ena tasted as nice a egg 
 since ma mither biled me yin, thirty year back." 
 
 After a glance of suspicion, Agnes permitted 
 herself to look gratified. 
 
 "I wonder what ye wud like for yer dinner?" 
 she said tentatively. "I can cook onything as 
 long as it's no' ower fancy." 
 
 "A chop ?" suggested the painter, off his guard. 
 Within the moment, however, he was protesting 
 that he could not allow her to do anything fur- 
 ther for him. 
 
 She listened patiently, cheerfully, as a mother 
 might listen to a child's serious nonsense, and 
 said:
 
 178 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "It'll be costin' ye something, that leg o' 
 yours." 
 
 " 'Deed is it ! It'll cost me a fortnight's trade," 
 he returned ruefully. 
 
 "An' if ye dinna rest it, it'll cost ye mair. 
 Eh?" 
 
 "Ay; the doctor says it's got to be rested." 
 
 "So ye're no' likely to jump up an' chase me 
 wi' yer big stick?" 
 
 For the first time that morning Mr. Redhorn 
 smiled. 
 
 "That's no' an operation I'm likely to execute 
 in the meantime." 
 
 "Then I'm safe," she smiled back. "Mair 
 tea?" 
 
 "Thenk ye. I ha'ena had tea like this since " 
 
 "Aw whisht, Maister Ridhorn !" She laughed 
 and changed the subject. "Is there ony meddi- 
 cine ye've got to tak for yer leg?" 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "No' exac'ly for ma leg. But, if ye'v nae 
 objections, I could dae wi' a dose frae that bottle 
 on the mantelpiece." 
 
 " 'Dyspepsia Elixir,' " said Agnes, reading the 
 label. 
 
 "Jist that. I I usually tak' it as an antidote 
 efter I've enjoyed an egg. Ye see, I like eggs 
 better nor eggs like me." 
 
 "I see," said the girl solemnly. 
 
 Later she administered the dose, gravely re-
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 179 
 
 marking: "I suppose, Maister Rid'horn, ye 
 ha'ena tasted sich nice meddicine since yer mither 
 gi'ed ye a dose, fifty year back." 
 
 "Ye're a treat, lassie !" he cried, quaking until 
 a twinge of his leg changed the chuckle to a 
 groan. 
 
 After she had cleared the table and washed 
 up, and made him as comfortable as she could 
 with the means at command, she went out to 
 do the necessary marketing, while Mr. Redhorn 
 smoked a cigarette of the worst possible quality 
 and meditated on the pleasantness that had so 
 unexpectedly befallen him. 
 
 "My, but youth's a bonny thing," he said to 
 himself. "There's something aboot a young fe- 
 male's kindness that's different frae a' ither 
 human kindnesses. 'Deed, it's worth ha'ein a 
 game leg for nearly." 
 
 On her return Agnes proceeded to tidy up, 
 which is a mild way of putting it, since she began 
 with a general upheaval. 
 
 "Here, stop it!" exclaimed the painter. "I 
 canna let ye kill yersel'. It's no' the Spring, 
 onyway !" 
 
 "It hasna been the Spring in this hoose for 
 mony a year," she retorted. "When was the 
 floor scrubbed last?" 
 
 "Dear knows. Ye see, Pm aye at my work 
 when Mistress McFadyen comes."
 
 180 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "It's mair nor she is," muttered Agnes. "It's 
 ower late to begin noo, but I'll get it scrubbed 
 first thing the morn's mornin'." 
 
 "Ye'll dae naething o' the sort!" 
 
 "Weel, weel," she said soothingly, advancing 
 to the hearth, "we'll no' speak aboot it the noo." 
 From the mantelshelf she began to remove the 
 articles which had their places there a small 
 tea-caddy, two damaged china ornaments, a 
 packet of cigarettes, the Elixir, and so forth. 
 "There's an inch o' dirt here," she declared with 
 a grimace. "I wonder when Mistress McFad- 
 yen cleaned it ? No' this year, I'll be boun' !" She 
 turned to the invalid. "What dae ye say to 
 gi'ein' her the sack when she comes back?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sighed. In his heart he knew 
 that he had been wanting to give her the sack 
 these nineteen years. But now he shook his 
 head. 
 
 "I doobt I couldna dae that. Ye see, she's a 
 widow " 
 
 "It's nae wonder she's that! Killed her man 
 wi' dirt, I suppose." 
 
 "Whisht, lassie Agnes," the painter said re- 
 provingly, with a cough to cover the chuckle. 
 "Besides, I've a notion that she needs her salary, 
 sich as it is." 
 
 "But if her auld auntie leaves her a thoosan' 
 pound Eh ?"
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 181 
 
 "Criftens!" exclaimed Mr. Redhorn. "That's 
 a happy thought! At least it alters the com- 
 plexion o' the seetuation generally. If she was 
 in'heritin' a sum like that, she wudna be wantin' 
 to keep her job here. In which case " He 
 halted; his animation departed as suddenly as 
 it had come. He glanced up at Agnes, but she 
 was apparently absorbed in contemplating the 
 dirt on the mantelshelf. 
 
 Presently Agnes glanced down at him, but he 
 was staring gloomily at the fire. She gave a tiny 
 cough; he looked up. Their eyes met for the 
 fraction of a second. Then Mr. Redhorn 
 averted his hastily, as one who harbours a guilty 
 secret. 
 
 Agnes went over to the sink and returned with 
 a wet cloth. To do her justice, she had entered 
 the painter's abode that morning without a single 
 ulterior motive. On the impulse she had deter- 
 mined to do the man who had helped her brother 
 a kindly turn simply that and nothing more. 
 And she had started the good work with ad- 
 mirable singleness of mind. But, somehow, 
 within an hour complications set in. Agnes was 
 one of a large family, and she had three elder 
 sisters. There was practically nothing for her 
 to do at home ; there was no opening for a young 
 girl in Fairport, and it would be years before 
 her parents would consent to her taking a situa-
 
 182 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 tion in the city. In the circumstances, the post 
 at present held by Mrs. McFadyen began to 
 appear desirable. 
 
 "I never seen sich a muck," she said, exhibit- 
 ing the cloth, to which a black paste adhered. 
 "Did you?" 
 
 Reluctantly Mr. Redhorn examined it. "It 
 seems as if she had overlooked the mantlepiece," 
 he slowly remarked, swaying betwixt inclination 
 and loyalty. "She's no' as young as she was, 
 puir body," he added, with an effort. "Was it 
 a thoosan' pound, ye said she was expectin' frae 
 her expirin' relative?" 
 
 "No' a penny less." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stroked his nose and smoothed 
 his hair ere he suggested the possibility of the 
 old lady's recovery. 
 
 Agnes made it plain that she could offer no 
 hope. 
 
 "The message said she was sinkin' fast; an', 
 onyway, Mistress McFadyen wudna ha'e gaed 
 to Glesca on chance twa shillin's an seevenpence 
 return, forbye tuppence for the pier. This dirt 
 maun be terrible bad for yer health, Maister 
 Ridhorn." 
 
 The painter did not respond, and Agnes had 
 the wit to refrain from further discussion of the 
 subect now nearest her heart, and to apply all 
 her energies to her domestic labours. Being no
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 183 
 
 politician, she probably reflected that, after all, 
 her actions might speak louder than her words. 
 
 During the ensuing three days it would have 
 been hard to say which of the two anticipated 
 the arrival of the steamer with keener anxiety, 
 or which learned of the non-arrival of Mrs. 
 McFadyen with more heart-felt feelings of 
 relief. 
 
 On the evening of the third day Agnes, com- 
 ing in to prepare the patient's supper Mr. Red- 
 horn, by the way, now failed to remember tastier 
 suppers even from the hands of his mother 
 brought tidings. Miss Dewar, the local dress- 
 maker, 'had received from the absent one a 
 picture postcard showing Glasgow's Municipal 
 Buildings and bearing the pencilled words "Sink- 
 ing rapidly." 
 
 "That means she'll no' be back this week," 
 Agnes said cheerfully. "Will ye tak' yer meddi- 
 cine afore or efter yer supper?" 
 
 "Neither!" replied the painter, afraid (quite 
 unnecessarily) of looking as happy as he felt. 
 "It's fair supernatural the way yer cookin' agrees 
 wi' me, Agnes! An' it's that toothsome!" 
 
 The girl's gratification betrayed itself in a 
 small giggle. 
 
 "Ye're lookin' nane the waur o' it, onyway. 
 An' ye've got a corkin' appetite."
 
 184 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 "A gladiator couldna ha'e better." 
 
 While she prepared the meal (strictly in ac- 
 cordance with instructions supplied by her 
 eldest sister) Mr. Redhorn once more surveyed 
 his abode. Never before had it appeared so 
 clean and sweet, so homely and comfortable. 
 Indeed, it seemed to lack nothing but fresh paint, 
 and Agnes and he had already decided upon 
 the colours to be applied as soon as health and 
 time permitted. 
 
 Undoubtedly the girl had worked hard, yet 
 she had done so without making any elaborate 
 display of her capabilities. Mr. Redhorn no 
 longer remonstrated with her; he frankly en- 
 joyed her company, and spent most of her pe- 
 riods of absence in wondering what he could 
 buy for her when he should be fit to travel to 
 the city. Moreover, he was not allowed to 
 weary in the evenings, for Agnes's father or 
 brother dropped in with the village news, and 
 also with friendly tokens in the shape of newly 
 baked scones and freshly churned butter. Other 
 neighbours, too, paid him little friendly atten- 
 tions, and altogether he was beginning to enjoy 
 what he termed "the sweets o' popularity." 
 
 Nevertheless, he would fain have had only the 
 girl's company. When he came to realize quite 
 clearly that she was deliberately seeking to oust 
 Mrs. McFadyen from favour, he permitted the 
 knowledge to become a satisfaction to his soul
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 185 
 
 and sought to ignore the intermittent tweaks of 
 conscience. It would be difficult to express in 
 so many words the state of mind of Joseph 
 Redhorn in these days ; he could not have done 
 so for himself; but undoubtedly he was indulg- 
 ing in a flirtation with Youth in the abstract and 
 struggling to be faithful to Age in the actual, 
 at one and the same time. Agnes, with her 
 warmth of kindliness, her glints of sentiment, 
 her transparent plottings, her sparklings of 
 humour, her bright impertinences, and her burn- 
 ing enthusiasm for orderliness, was an experience 
 as refreshing as it was new to Joseph. She 
 had freed more than his home from staleness. 
 
 On the Sunday evening, while tidying up pre- 
 paratory to going home, Agnes, who had man- 
 aged all day to avoid reference to Mrs. McFad- 
 yen, said casually: 
 
 "I wonder hoo she's gettin' on?" 
 
 "Wha?" inquired the painter, with an ill- 
 feigned lack of comprehension. 
 
 "Her." 
 
 "Her? . . . Dae ye mean Mistress McFad- 
 yen, Agnes?" 
 
 "Ay. . . . Were you no' wonderin' aboot 
 her?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn could tell a lie, but not to save 
 his own face. "By a curious coincidence," he 
 confessed, "I was."
 
 i86 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 There was a pause, and the girl said in low- 
 ered tones: 
 
 "Dae ye think the auld auntie'll ha'e sunk 
 yet?" 
 
 "Agnes," he returned, "it wud be mair respect- 
 ful to use the word 'departed.'" 
 
 "Sorry. ... I'm sure it'll be a' the same 
 to her, puir auld thing. I hope Mistress Mc- 
 Fadyen was nice to her." 
 
 "Aw, I think we can gi'e her credit for that." 
 
 Agnes gave a slight sniff. "Maister Ridhorn," 
 she began, and halted. 
 
 "What is it, Agnes?" 
 
 "Maister Ridhorn, what'll ye dae if she doesna 
 want to serve ye again?" 
 
 "I'm wonderin' what I'll dae if she does!" 
 the painter exclaimed. Then hurriedly : "Na, na ; 
 I didn't mean that, lassie. It wasna a fair thing 
 to say." 
 
 Agnes's flush of delight died away. She 
 turned her back to him and proceeded to put 
 the dishes in the cupboard. "I I suppose there 
 wud be nae chance for me?" she said in little 
 more than a whisper. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn writhed. "What can I say, 
 Agnes?" he muttered. "What can I say?" 
 
 "Maybe ye think I'm ower young." 
 
 "Na, na. That's the glorious thing aboot ye. 
 But but oh dear me, there's nae use speakin' 
 aboot it till we ken mair nor we dae."
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 187 
 
 Agnes sighed as she closed the cupboard. 
 "Aweel, it's time I was gettin' hame." With a 
 look of scarcely veiled reproach she moved to- 
 wards the door. 
 
 "I didna mean to offend ye, ma dear," he 
 cried. 
 
 "Oh, I'm no' offended. Guid nicht, Maister 
 Rid'horn ! See ye in the mornin'. Ham an' eggs, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 "Agnes, come here an' shake han's, seein' it's 
 the Sabbath nicht." 
 
 She came back, recovered from her fit of 
 despondency, smiling in her usual friendly way. 
 "I wasna offended, really. But ye'll gi'e me 
 the chance, if ye can, eh?" 
 
 "Guid kens, I will. Mind, Agnes, whatever 
 happens, I'm grateful. The Lord bless ye! 
 Guid nicht!" 
 
 "Guid nicht, Maister Ridhorn ! I'll be doon at 
 nine sharp. I I hope she'll no' come back till 
 ye're quite better, onyway." 
 
 The door closed behind her. 
 
 "My, but youth's a bonny thing!" he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 It was a little before nine when the knock 
 came. 
 
 "Come in!" he cried blithely. 
 And Mrs. McFadyen entered. 
 With an almost sick feeling Mr. Redhorn
 
 i88 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 gazed at the drab and withered creature. "Yer 
 aunt?" he stammered. 
 
 "Oh, ma aunt had an operation on Friday, an' 
 noo she's gettin' better. The doctor says she's 
 guid for ten year yet." The statement was de- 
 livered without enthusiasm. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn pulled his wits together. "I'm 
 gled to hear it," he said, with all the politeness 
 at 'his command. 
 
 "I dare say ye are! It cost me three shillin's 
 a' but a penny." Mrs. McFadyen, who had been 
 peering about the apartment, now produced a 
 series of noisy sniffs. "There's a queer smell 
 here !" she remarked at last, aggressively. 
 
 "Ye mean a fragrance, maybe," he suggested. 
 "In ither words, a fresh an' pleasin' odour." 
 
 "Weel, I've smelt worse," she admitted, won- 
 idering, poor woman, whether she might venture 
 to ask forthwith for her last week's wages, also 
 how much extra she might demand for cooking 
 his meals during the current week. "Ay, I've 
 smelt worse," she repeated, almost graciously. 
 
 "Wud ye say it was the fragrance o' soap, 
 Mistress McFadyen?" 
 
 "Soap?" 
 
 "Or Youth?" 
 
 At that Mrs. McFadyen faced the painter and 
 simply gaped. 
 
 "Youth," repeated Mr. Redhorn, with a feeble 
 grin. "Ye ken what that is.''
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 189 
 
 She took a stride forward, and peered into 
 his face. 
 
 "I thought it was yer leg that was hurt," she 
 said, and touched her forehead suggestively. 
 
 The door opened. Agnes, in her rough apron, 
 stood on the threshold. 
 
 "Hullo!" she exclaimed, with a poor attempt 
 at lightness. "Ye've got back. Is yer aunt no* 
 deid?" 
 
 Understanding came to Mrs. McFadyen. She 
 wheeled rounjl. 
 
 "Ay, I've got back," she snapped. "What dae 
 ye want?" 
 
 The eyes of Agnes sought the painter's in ap- 
 peal. The helpless man shrank in his chair. 
 
 "What dae ye want, girl?" the woman re- 
 peated. 
 
 Agnes nerved herself. 
 
 "It's time Maister Ridhorn was getcin' his 
 breakfast," she said. 
 
 "I'll attend to that." 
 
 "Ye dinna ken what he's to get for his break- 
 fast." 
 
 "That's enough," cried the woman in a fury. 
 "Awa' hame wi' ye ! Ye've nae business here !" 
 
 "Whisht, whisht!" the painter whispered dis- 
 tractedly. 
 
 "She's nae business here!" Mrs. McFayden 
 stamped her foot. "D'ye hear me, Agnes Fraser? 
 Gang!"
 
 Agnes wavered, but held her ground. 
 
 "I'll thenk ye for ma money," she said. 
 
 "What money ?" 
 
 "The money ye promised me for daein' yer 
 work." 
 
 "I never promised ye. ... Weel, weel, yell 
 get yer money in guid time." 
 
 Agnes expressed her doubts by a toss of her 
 head, accompanied by a sniff, and made a remark 
 in which "pigsty" was the most audible word. 
 
 "What?" Mrs. McFadyen advanced upon the 
 girl. 
 
 "For ony favour " began Mr. Redhorn, mak- 
 ing an effort to rise. 
 
 "Ye'll hurt yer ankle," the girl called. "Never 
 heed her. She'll no' touch me twice." 
 
 Mrs. McFadyen hesitated; she was almost 
 dancing. 
 
 "Will ye gang?" she screeched. 
 
 Agnes deliberately folded her slim arms 
 across her young bosom, and said : 
 
 "I'll gang when Maister Ridhorn tells me to 
 gang." 
 
 "Oh, criftens!" gasped the painter, falling 
 back in his chair. 
 
 A palpitating silence ensued. It lasted until 
 the woman, with a wail, said: 
 
 "Bid her gang, Maister Ridhorn, bid her 
 gang !"
 
 AN INTRUSION OF YOUTH 191 
 
 "Bid her gang, Maister Ridhorn," said Agnes, 
 with a sob. "She canna keep yer hoose nice." 
 
 "I've kep' it for twinty year," said Mrs. Mc- 
 Fadyen, dread getting the better of resentment. 
 "There's no* a place in Fairport was better 
 kep' " 
 
 "In dirt!" 
 
 "Peace, lassie," said Mr. Redhorn, at his wits' 
 end. 
 
 "Dae ye want me to gang?" she asked re- 
 proachfully. "Ye maun be starvin' for yer 
 breakfast. Look at her! She would let ye 
 starve. She deserves to get the sack!" 
 
 At these words all the woman's fury came 
 back. A torrent of bitter invective poured from 
 her lips. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shuddered. He held up his 'hand 
 to stay the girl's retort. 
 
 "Agnes," he said sadly, "I think ye best re- 
 tire." 
 
 "Gang? ... Oh, Maister Ridhorn!" 
 
 Mrs. McFadyen emitted a cackle of triumph 
 which was a mistake on her part. 
 
 "An' return in five meenutes," the painter 
 added. 
 
 Agnes gave him one look, and went out. 
 
 What happened during the next five minutes 
 has never been explicitly disclosed by either 
 party. All that need be known, however, is that 
 Mrs. McFayden calls on Mr. Redhorn every
 
 192 THE MISADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 
 Saturday morning to receive certain pieces of 
 silver for which she has done no apparent work. 
 
 "Noo for the ham an' eggs !" cried Agnes, as 
 soon as she had recovered from the good news, 
 and had absorbed the mild warning to the effect 
 that Mrs. McFadyen was not to be considered 
 an object for derision. 
 
 "Ham an' eggs," sighed the painter. "In the 
 meantime I'll be obleeged if ye'll pass me doon 
 the Elixir." 
 
 "Are ye feelin' no' weel?" she exclaimed 
 anxiously. 
 
 "I'm sufferin' frae what the novelles ca' a 
 revulsion o' feelin'." 
 
 Her look of horror passed at his kindly smile. 
 
 "I think," she said cheerfully, "you an' me's 
 gaun to be fairly happy eh ?" 
 
 "I confess to a similar forebodin'," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 While she got busy, he thoughtfully regarded 
 his glass of physic. 
 
 "Youth's a bonny thing," he murmured, "but 
 I'm afraid it's an expensive luxury espaycially 
 when it's female. Still" he gulped the dose and 
 pulled a face "I wudna wonder if it's worth 
 the money." 
 
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