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CHAPTER XIII
INDUCEMENTS

Ronald's friendship with the hospitable widow and his acquaintanceship with those three boon-companions of hers grew apace; and many a merry evening they all of them had together in the brilliant little parlour, Ronald singing his own or any other songs without stint, the big skipper telling elaborately facetious Highland stories, the widow bountiful with her cigars and her whisky-toddy. And yet he was ill, ill at ease. He would not admit to himself, of course, that he rather despised these new acquaintances – for were they not most generous and kind towards him? – nor yet that the loud hilarity he joined in was on his part at times a trifle forced. Indeed, he could not very well have defined the cause of this disquietude and restlessness and almost despair that was present to his consciousness even when the laugh was at its loudest and the glasses going round most merrily. But the truth was he had begun to lose heart in his work. The first glow of determination that had enabled him to withstand the depression of the dull days and the monotonous labour had subsided now. The brilliant future the Americans had painted for him did not seem so attractive. Meenie was away; perhaps never to be met with more; and the old glad days that were filled with the light of her presence were all gone now and growing ever more and more distant. And in the solitude of the little room up there in the Port Dundas Road – with the gray atmosphere ever present at the windows, and the dull rumble of the carts and waggons without – he was now getting into a habit of pushing aside his books for a while, and letting his fancies go far afield; insomuch that his heart seemed to grow more and more sick within him, and more and more he grew to think that somehow life had gone all wrong with him.

There is in Glasgow a thoroughfare familiarly known as Balmanno Brae. It is in one of the poorer neighbourhoods of the town; and is in truth rather a squalid and uninteresting place; but it has the one striking peculiarity of being extraordinarily steep, having been built on the side of a considerable hill. Now one must have a powerful imagination to see in this long, abrupt, blue-gray thoroughfare – with its grimy pavements and house-fronts, and its gutters running with dirty water – any resemblance to the wide slopes of Ben Clebrig and the carolling rills that flow down to Loch Naver; but all the same Ronald had a curious fancy for mounting this long incline, and that at the hardest pace he could go. For sometimes, in that little room, he felt almost like a caged animal dying for a wider air, a more active work; and here at least was a height that enabled him to feel the power of his knees; while the mere upward progress was a kind of inspiriting thing, one always having a vague fancy that one is going to see farther in getting higher. Alas! there was but the one inevitable termination to these repeated climbings; and that not the wide panorama embracing Loch Loyal and Ben Hope and the far Kyle of Tongue, but a wretched little lane called Rotten Row – a double line of gloomy houses, with here and there an older-fashioned cottage with a thatched roof, and with everywhere pervading the close atmosphere an odour of boiled herrings. And then again, looking back, there was no yellow and wide-shining Strath-Terry, with its knolls of purple heather and its devious rippling burns, but only the great, dark, grim, mysterious city, weltering in its smoke, and dully groaning, as it were, under the grinding burden of its monotonous toil.

As the Twelfth of August drew near he became more and more restless. He had written to Lord Ailine to say that, if he could be of any use, he would take a run up to Inver-Mudal for a week or so, just to see things started for the season; but Lord Ailine had considerately refused the offer, saying that everything seemed going on well enough, except, indeed, that Lugar the Gordon setter was in a fair way of being spoilt, for that, owing to Ronald's parting injunctions, there was not a man or boy about the place would subject the dog to any kind of chastisement or discipline whatever. And it sounded strange to Ronald to hear that he was still remembered away up there in the remote little hamlet.

On the morning of the day before the Twelfth his books did not get much attention. He kept going to the window to watch the arrivals at the railway station opposite, wondering whether this one or that was off and away to the wide moors and the hills. Then, about mid-day, he saw a young lad bring up four dogs – a brace of setters, a small spaniel, and a big brown retriever – and give them over in charge to a porter. Well, human nature could not stand this any longer. His books were no longer thought of; on went his Glengarry cap; and in a couple of minutes he was across the road and into the station, where the porter was hauling the dogs along the platform.

'Here, my man, I'll manage the doggies for ye,' he said, getting hold of the chains and straps; and of course the dogs at once recognised in him a natural ally and were less alarmed. A shambling, bow-legged porter hauling at them they could not understand at all; but in the straight figure and sun-tanned cheek and clear eye of the newcomer they recognised features familiar to them; and then he spoke to them as if he knew them.

'Ay, and what's your name, then? – Bruce, or Wallace, or Soldier? – but there'll no be much work for you for a while yet. It's you, you two bonnie lassies, that'll be amongst the heather the morn; and well I can see ye'll work together, and back each other, and just set an example to human folk. And if ye show yourselves just a wee bit eager at the beginning o' the day – well, well, well, we all have our faults, and that one soon wears off. And what's your names, then? – Lufra, or Nell, or Bess, or Fan? And you, you wise auld chiel – I'm thinking ye could get a grip o' a mallard that would make him imagine he had got back into his mother's nest – you're a wise one – the Free Kirk elder o' the lot' – for, indeed, the rest of them were all pawing at him, and licking his hands, and whimpering their friendship. The porter had to point out to him that he, the porter, could not stand there the whole day with 'a wheen dogs;' whereupon Ronald led these new companions of his along to the dog-box that had been provided for them, and there, when they had been properly secured, the porter left him. Ronald could still talk to them however, and ask them questions; and they seemed to understand well enough: indeed, he had not spent so pleasant a half-hour for many and many a day.

There chanced to come along the platform a little, wiry, elderly man, with a wholesome-looking weather-tanned face, who was carrying a bundle of fishing-rods over his shoulder; and seeing how Ronald was engaged he spoke to him in passing and began to talk about the dogs.

'Perhaps they're your dogs?' Ronald said.

'No, no, our folk are a' fishing folk,' said the little old man, who was probably a gardener or something of the kind, and who seemed to take readily to this new acquaintance. 'I've just been in to Glasgow to get a rod mended, and to bring out a new one that the laird has bought for himself.'

He grinned in a curious sarcastic way.

'He's rather a wee man; and this rod – Lord sakes, ye never saw such a thing! it would break the back o' a Samson – bless ye, the butt o't's like a weaver's beam; and for our gudeman to buy a thing like that – well, rich folk hae queer ways o' spending their money.'

He was a friendly old man; and this joke of his master having bought so tremendous an engine seemed to afford him so much enjoyment that when Ronald asked to be allowed to see this formidable weapon he said at once —

'Just you come along outside there, and we'll put it thegither, and ye'll see what kind o' salmon-rod an old man o' five foot five thinks he can cast wi' – '

'If it's no taking up too much of your time,' Ronald suggested, but eager enough he was to get a salmon-rod into his fingers again.

'I've three quarters of an hour to wait,' was the reply, 'for I canna make out they train books ava.'

They went out beyond the platform to an open space, and very speedily the big rod was put together. It was indeed an enormous thing; but a very fine rod, for all that; and so beautifully balanced and so beautifully pliant that Ronald, after having made one or two passes through the air with it, could not help saying to the old man, and rather wistfully too —

'I suppose ye dinna happen to have a reel about ye?'

'That I have,' was the instant answer, 'and a brand new hundred-yard line on it too. Would ye like to try a cast? I'm thinking ye ken something about it.'

It was an odd kind of place to try the casting-power of a salmon-rod, this dismal no-man's-land of empty trucks and rusted railway-points and black ashes; but no sooner had Ronald begun to send out a good line – taking care to recover it so that it should not fray itself along the gritty ground – than the old man perceived he had to deal with no amateur.

'Man, ye're a dab, and no mistake! As clean a line as ever I saw cast! It's no the first time you've handled a salmon-rod, I'll be bound!'

'It's the best rod I've ever had in my hand,' Ronald said, as he began to reel in the line again. 'I'm much obliged to ye for letting me try a cast – it's many a day now since I threw a line.'

They took the rod down and put it in its case.

'I'm much obliged to ye,' Ronald repeated (for the mere handling of this rod had fired his veins with a strange kind of excitement). 'Will ye come and take a dram?'

'No, thank ye, I'm a teetotaller,' said the other; and then he glanced at Ronald curiously. 'But ye seem to ken plenty about dogs and about fishing and so on – what are ye doing in Glasgow and the morn the Twelfth? Ye are not a town lad?'

'No, I'm not; but I have to live in the town at present,' was the answer. 'Well, good-day to ye; and many thanks for the trial o' the rod.'

'Good-day, my lad; I wish I had your years and the strength o' your shouthers.'

In passing Ronald said good-bye again to the handsome setters and the spaniel and the old retriever; and then he went on and out of the station, but it was not to return to his books. The seeing of so many people going away to the north, the talking with the dogs, the trial of the big salmon-rod, had set his brain a little wild. What if he were to go back and beg of the withered old man to take him with him – ay, even as the humblest of gillies, to watch, gaff in hand, by the side of the broad silver-rippling stream, or to work in a boat on a blue-ruffled loch! To jump into a third-class carriage and know that the firm inevitable grip of the engine was dragging him away into the clearer light, the wider skies, the glad free air! No wonder they said that fisher folk were merry folk; the very jolting of the engine would in such a case have a kind of music in it; how easily could one make a song that would match with the swing of the train! It was in his head now, as he rapidly and blindly walked away along the Cowcaddens, and along the New City Road, and along the Western Road – random rhymes, random verses, that the jolly company could sing together as the engine thundered along —

 
Out of the station we rattle away,
Wi' a clangour of axle and wheel;
There's a merrier sound that we knew in the north —
The merry, merry shriek of the reel!
 
 
O you that shouther the heavy iron gun,
And have steep, steep braes to speel —
We envy you not; enough is for us
The merry, merry shriek of the reel!
 
 
When the twenty-four pounder leaps in the air,
And the line flies out with a squeal —
O that is the blessedest sound upon earth,
The merry, merry shriek of the reel!
 
 
So here's to good fellows! – for them that are not,
Let them gang and sup kail wi' the deil!
We've other work here – so look out, my lads,
For the first, sharp shriek of the reel!
 

He did not care to put the rough-jolting verses down on paper, for the farther and the more rapidly he walked away out of the town the more was his brain busy with pictures and visions of all that they would be doing at this very moment at Inver-Mudal.

'God bless me,' he said to himself, 'I could almost swear I hear the dogs whimpering in the kennels.'

There would be the young lads looking after the panniers and the ponies; and the head-keeper up at the lodge discussing with Lord Ailine the best way of taking the hill in the morning, supposing the wind to remain in the same direction; and Mr. Murray at the door of the inn, smoking his pipe as usual; and the pretty Nelly indoors waiting upon the shooting party just arrived from the south and listening to all their wants. And Harry would be wondering, amid all this new bustle and turmoil, why his master did not put in an appearance; perhaps scanning each succeeding dog-cart or waggonette that came along the road; and then, not so blithe-spirited, making his way to the Doctor's house. Comfort awaited him there, at all events; for Ronald had heard that Meenie had taken pity on the little terrier, and that it was a good deal oftener with her than at the inn. Only all this seemed now so strange; the great dusk city lay behind him like a nightmare from which he had but partially escaped, and that with tightened breath; and he seemed to be straining his ears to catch those soft and friendly voices so far away. And then later on, as the darkness fell, what would be happening there? The lads would be coming along to the inn; lamps lit, and chairs drawn in to the table; Mr. Murray looking in at times with his jokes, and perhaps with a bit of a treat on so great an occasion. And surely – surely – as they begin to talk of this year and of last year and of the changes – surely some one will say – perhaps Nelly, as she brings in the ale – but surely some one will say – as a mere word of friendly remembrance – 'Well, I wish Ronald was here now with his pipes, to play us The Barren Rocks of Aden? Only a single friendly word of remembrance – it was all that he craved.

He struck away south through Dowanhill and Partick, and crossed the Clyde at Govan Ferry; then he made his way back to the town and Jamaica Street bridge; and finally, it being now dusk, looked in to see whether Mrs. Menzies was at leisure for the evening.

'What's the matter, Ronald?' she said instantly, as he entered, for she noticed that his look was careworn and strange.

'Well, Katie, lass, I don't quite know what's the matter wi' me, but I feel as if I just couldna go back to that room of mine and sit there by myself – at least not yet; I think I've been put a bit daft wi' seeing the people going away for the Twelfth; and if ye wouldna mind my sitting here for a while with ye, for the sake o' company – '

'Mind!' she said. 'Mind! What I do mind is that you should be ganging to that lodging-house at a', when there's a room – and a comfortable room, though I say it that shouldn't – in this very house at your disposal, whenever ye like to bring your trunk till it. There it is – an empty room, used by nobody – and who more welcome to it than my ain cousin? I'll tell ye what, Ronald, my lad, ye're wearing yoursel' away on a gowk's errand. Your certificate! How do ye ken ye'll get your certificate? How do ye ken ye will do such great things with it when ye get it? You're a young man; you'll no be a young man twice; what I say is, take your fling when ye can get it! Look at Jimmy Laidlaw – he's off the first thing in the morning to the Mearns – £15 for his share of the shooting – do ye think he can shoot like you? – and why should ye no have had your share too?'

'Well, it was very kind of you, Katie, woman, to make the offer; but – but – there's a time for everything.'

'Man, I could have driven ye out every morning in the dog-cart! and welcome. I'm no for having young folk waste the best years of their life, and find out how little use the rest o't's to them – no that I consider mysel' one o' the auld folk yet – '

'You, Katie dear!' whined old mother Paterson from her millinery corner. 'You – just in the prime o' youth, one micht say! you one o' the auld folk? – ay, in thirty years' time maybe!'

'Take my advice, Ronald, my lad,' said the widow boldly. 'Dinna slave away for naething – because folk have put fancy notions into your head. Have a better opinion o' yoursel'! Take your chance o' life when ye can get it – books and books, what's the use o' books?'

'Too late now – I've made my bed and maun lie on it,' he said gloomily; but then he seemed to try to shake off this depression. 'Well, well, lass, Rome was not built in a day. And if I were to throw aside my books, what then? How would that serve? Think ye that that would make it any the easier for me to get a three-weeks' shooting wi' Jimmy Laidlaw?'

'And indeed ye might have had that in any case, and welcome,' said Kate Menzies, with a toss of her head. 'Who is Jimmy Laidlaw, I wonder! But it's no use arguin' wi' ye, Ronald, lad; he that will to Cupar maun to Cupar;' only I dinna like to see ye looking just ill.'

'Enough said, lass; I didna come here to torment ye with my wretched affairs,' he answered; and at this moment the maidservant entered to lay the cloth for supper, while Mrs. Menzies withdrew to make herself gorgeous for the occasion.

He was left with old mother Paterson.

'There's none so blind as them that winna see,' she began, in her whining voice.

'What is't?'

'Ay, ay,' she continued, in a sort of maundering soliloquy, 'a braw woman like that – and free-handed as the day – she could have plenty offers if she liked; But there's none so blind as them that winna see. There's Mr. Laidlaw there, a good-looking man, and wan wi' a good penny at the bank; and wouldna he just jump at the chance, if she had a nod or a wink for him? But Katie was aye like that – headstrong; she would aye have her ain way – and there she is, a single woman, a braw, handsome, young woman – and weel provided for – weel provided for – only it's no every one that takes her fancy. A prize like that, to be had for the asking! Dear me – but there's nane so blind as them that winna see.'

It was not by any means the first time that mother Paterson had managed to drop a few dark hints – and much to his embarrassment, moreover, for he could not pretend to ignore their purport. Nay, there was something more than that. Kate Menzies's rough-and-ready friendliness for her cousin had of late become more and more pronounced – almost obtrusive, indeed. She wanted to have the mastery of his actions altogether. She would have him pitch his books aside and come for a drive with her whether he was in the humour or no. She offered him the occupancy of a room which, if it was not actually within the tavern, communicated with it. She seemed unable to understand why he should object to her paying £15 to obtain for him a share in a small bit of conjoint shooting out at the Mearns. And so forth in many ways. Well, these things, taken by themselves, he might have attributed to a somewhat tempestuous good-nature; but here was this old woman, whenever a chance occurred, whining about the folly of people who did not see that Katie dear was so handsome and generous and so marvellous a matrimonial prize. Nor could he very well tell her to mind her own business, for that would be admitting that he understood her hints.

However, on this occasion he had not to listen long; for presently Mrs. Menzies returned, smiling, good-natured, radiant in further finery; and then they all had supper together; and she did her best to console her cousin for being cooped up in the great city on the eve of the Twelfth. And Ronald was very grateful to her; and perhaps, in his eager desire to keep up this flow of high spirits, and to forget what was happening at Inver-Mudal and about to happen, he may have drunk a little too much; at all events, when Laidlaw and Jaap and the skipper came in they found him in a very merry mood, and Kate Menzies equally hilarious and happy. Songs? – he was going to no Harmony Club that night, he declared – he would sing them as many songs as ever they liked – but he was not going to forsake his cousin. Nor were the others the least unwilling to remain where they were; for here they were in privacy, and the singing was better, and the liquor unexceptionable. The blue smoke rose quietly in the air; the fumes of Long John warmed blood and brain; and then from time to time they heard of the brave, or beautiful, or heart-broken maidens of Scotch song – Maggie Lauder, or Nelly Munro, or Barbara Allan, as the chance might be – and music and good fellowship and whisky all combined to throw a romantic halo round these simple heroines.

'But sing us one o' your own, Ronald, my lad – there's none better, and that's what I say!' cried the widow; and as she happened to be passing his chair at the time – going to the sideboard for some more lemons, she slapped him on the shoulder by way of encouragement.

'One o' my own?' said he. 'But which – which – lass? Oh, well, here's one.'

He lay back in his chair, and quite at haphazard and carelessly and jovially began to sing – in that clearly penetrating voice that neither tobacco smoke nor whisky seemed to affect —

 
Roses white, roses red,
Roses in the lane,
Tell me, roses red and white,
Where is —
 

And then suddenly something seemed to grip his heart. But the stumble was only for the fiftieth part of a second. He continued:

 
Where is Jeannie gane?
 

And so he finished the careless little verses. Nevertheless, Kate Menzies, returning to her seat, had noticed that quick, instinctive pulling of himself up.

'And who's Jeannie when she's at home?' she asked saucily.

'Jeannie?' he said, with apparent indifference. 'Jeannie? There's plenty o' that name about.'

'Ay; and how many o' them are at Inver-Mudal?' she asked, regarding him shrewdly, and with an air which he resented.

But the little incident passed. There was more singing, drinking, smoking, talking of nonsense and laughing. And at last the time came for the merry companions to separate; and he went away home through the dark streets alone. He had drunk too much, it must be admitted; but he had a hard head; and he had kept his wits about him; and even now as he ascended the stone stairs to his lodgings he remembered with a kind of shiver, and also with not a little heartfelt satisfaction, how he had just managed to save himself from bringing Meenie's name before that crew.