His eye brightened as he arose from his chair and went to the dresser, where he opened the small cupboard on the left, drew out the familiar black bottle and now kept always in readiness beside it his own small tumbler. With the tumbler in one hand and the bottle in the other, he sat down again in his chair, poured himself out some whisky and at once savoured it gratefully, appreciatively, holding the liquor for a moment between his palate and his tongue. The first drink of the day always passed over his lips with a richer and more satisfying flavour than any other, and now it trickled so warmly down his gullet that he was impelled to follow it quickly by a second. The first had been to himself this would be in honour of Nessie! She might now be out of the train if she followed, as she undoubtedly would, his directions to get out at Partick Station, and might at this very moment be ascending the steep slope of Gilmorehill towards the grey pile of the University on its summit. He was conscious that this noble building, breathing of erudition, was well suited for the holding of the Latta examination, well worthy for the making of his daughter's mark within it. The professors might already have heard of her cleverness in some stray manner, for reports of brilliant scholars were circulated in devious but far-reaching ways in the academic world, and, even if this were not so, she had a name which they would recognise at once, which was a
passport to her, there and anywhere she might choose to go. He drank to the University, to Nessie, and again to the name of Brodie.
This was better! To-day his mind reacted to the whisky in a different manner from that mere dulling of his morose despondency which had lately been the result of his potations; now, the old-time exhilaration of the early days of his toping was returning to him, and as he became aware of this delicious fact, his spirits rose, and he began to cast about in his mind for some channel into which he might direct his new-found animation. It was unconscionably dull for a cheerful man to sit under the sombre eye of his melancholy daughter, and, perceiving that he would have to seek his amusement out of the house, he considered for a moment the idea of visiting the office, not, of course, to work, but merely, in an informal way, to divert those two young sprigs in his room and to tweak the offensive nose of the upstart Blair. Being Saturday, however, it was a half day at the office which meant that they would soon be stopping work and going home and he felt, too, that the occasion demanded a more appropriate celebration than merely a return to the scene of his daily labour. He abandoned this idea with only a faint regret, which vanished completely as he drowned it in another glass of Mountain Dew.
Dew! Dew upon the grass green grass the bowling green! Ah! he had it at last! Who said that there was not inspiration in that famous blend of Teacher which he always favoured? His face lit up with a lively delight at his aptness in remembering that the summer tournament of the Levenford Bowling Club was to be held at the Wellhall Green this afternoon, and he smiled broadly as he considered that all the worthies would be present present for a certainty from wee Johnnie Paxton up to the Lord High Provost Grierson himself.
"Gad!" he muttered, slapping his thigh, in quite his old manner, "that's the ticket, right enough! I'll have them all boxed up in that one place and I'll throw the Latta in their teeth there and then. I'll show them I'm not feared o' them. It's high time I was makin' myself heard again. It strikes me I've been over long about it."
He crowned his satisfaction with a bumper, then, raising his voice, cried:
"Hurry up with my dinner in there. I'm wantin' it quick. I'm goin' out this afternoon and I want something inside of me first. Let it be some decent food too, and none o' that swill ye were foistin' off on Nessie this morning."
"Your dinner's ready, Father," Mary replied quietly. "You can have it now, if you wish."
"I do wish, then," he retorted. "Get on with it and don't stand glumphin' at me like that."
She quickly laid the table and served him with his meal, but though this was to his taste, and indeed infinitely better than any which Nancy had ever prepared for him, he gave neither praise nor thanks. He did justice to it however, and with an appetite stimulated by the whisky, for once ate heartily, dividing his thoughts, as he masticated vigorously, between his plans for the afternoon and the further consideration of Nessie. She would have actually begun the examination by this time and would be sitting driving her pen over page after page of paper whilst the others, and particularly young Grierson, chewed the wooden ends of theirs and stared at her enviously. Now he saw her, having entirely finished one exercise book, rise from her place and, her small, self-conscious face glowing, advance to demand another from the examiner. She had used up one book al-ready, the first in the room to do so Nessie Brodie, his daughter whilst that young snipe Grierson had not even filled half of his yet! He chuckled slightly at her remarkable prowess and bolted his food with an added gusto from the vision of the other's discomfiture. His thoughts ran chiefly in this strain during the rest of the meal and, when he had finished, he arose and drank again, emptying the bottle to the hope that she would require not two, but three books to convey to the professors the wide extent of her knowledge.
It was still too early for his descent upon the Wellhall Bowling Green, for he wished to allow a full congregation of the notables to collect, and realising that he was not yet ripe with the careless rapture best suited to such an adventure, confronted, too, by the mere hollow shell which had held the Mountain Dew, he decided to adventure out and rest himself for an hour in the Wellhall Vaults which conveniently adjoined the Green.
Accordingly, he left the house and proceeded down the road, not however, with the set, morose face and unseeing stare which marked him lately in the streets but, fortified by his mood and the knowledge of his daughter's success, with a freer, easier carriage which again invited inspection. Few people were about as yet, but when he had crossed Railway Road he observed on the other side of the street the stately figure of Doctor Lawrie, not driving, but walking, and immediately he crossed over and accosted him.
"Good day to you, Doctor Lawrie," he cried affably. It had been 'Lawrie' in the old days and without the affability. "I'm pleased to meet ye."
"Good day," returned the other, thinking of his unpaid bill and speaking with the small store of curtness he possessed.
"It's well met for us just now," retorted Brodie. "Well met! Do ye know what's happening at this very moment?"
Lawrie eyed him warily as he uttered a cautious "No."
"My Nessie is up at the University, winning the Latta for me while you and me are talkin' here," cried Brodie. "It's a justification of your own words. Don't ye mind what ye told me, that she had a head on her in a thousand?"
"Indeed! Indeed!" returned Lawrie pompously and with a slight degree of cordiality. "I'm gratified to hear that. Winning the Latta. It all helps. It'll be a little more grist to the mill, I suppose." He looked sideways at the other, hoping that he would take the hint, then suddenly he looked directly at Brodie and exclaimed, "Winning? Did ye say she had won the Latta?"
"It's as good as won," replied Brodie comfortably. "She's at it the now this very minute. I took the day off to see that she got away in the best o' fettle. She went off with a glint in her eye that spoke for victory. She'll fill three books ere she's done!"
"Indeed!" said Lawrie again, and, eyeing the other strangely, he drew insensibly away, remarking, "I'll have to be getting along now an important consultation my horse just cast a shoe along the road there I'm late!"
"Don't go yet, man," remonstrated Brodie, buttonholing the embarrassed Lawrie firmly. "I havena told ye half about my daughter yet. Fm real fond o' that lass, you know. In my own way. Just in my own way. I've wrought hard with her for the last six months."
"Pray let me go, Mr. Brodie," cried Lawrie, struggling to free himself.
"We've burned the midnight oil between us, have Nessie and I," retorted Brodie gravely. "It's been a heap o' work but by gad, it's been worth it!"
"Really, sir," exclaimed Lawrie in a shrill, indignant tone, wrenching him
self free and looking around to see if his contact with this ruffianly looking individual had been observed, "you've taken a great liberty! I don't like it! Take care how you address me in future." Then, with a last, outraged look, he reinflated his cheeks and bounced off quickly down the road.
Brodie gazed after him in some amazement. He failed to detect anything in his recent conduct which could have aroused indignation, and finally, with a shake of his head, he turned and resumed his way, reaching without further encounters the haven of the Wellhall Vaults. Here he was not known and he remained silent, but drinking steadily, filling himself with liquor and further visions of his daughter's prowess, until three o'clock. Then he got up, set his hat well back upon his head, drew in his lips and swaggered into the open once more.
The mere step to the Wellhall Green he accomplished with hardly a falter and soon he was inside the trim enclosure where the smooth square of reen lay vivid in the sunshine, marred only by the dark, blurred figures of the players wavering across it before his eye. What a game for grown men, he thought contemptuously; to roll a few balls about like a gang of silly bairns. Could they not take out a gun or a horse, like he had once done, if they wanted their exercise or amusement.
His gaze, however, did not remain long upon the green but, lifting quickly, sought the small group that sat upon the veranda of the pavilion at the further end of the ground, and he smiled with a sardonic gratification as he observed that, even as he had foretold, they were all there from simple John Paxton to the Lord High Provost of the Borough. He gathered himself together again and advanced deliberately towards them.
For a moment he proceeded unobserved by this small gathering for they were all concentrating upon the game before them but suddenly Paxton looked up, observed him, and gasped in amazement:
"Guidsakes Just look what's coming!" His tone drew their attention at once, and following his startled gaze, they too regarded the strange, uncouth, strutting figure as it bore down upon them, and they exclaimed variously:
"Good God! It's Brodie. I ha vena seen him for months!"
"He's as fou as a lord, by the looks o' him."
"Losh! It's the drunken earl himsel'."
"Look at the face o' him and the clothes o' him."
"Ay, but look at the swagger o' the thing!"
They were silent as he drew near, directing their eyes away from him towards the green, disowning him, but still failing to perturb him as, oscillating slightly, he stood encompassing them with his sneer.
"Dear, dear," he snickered, "we're very engrossed in watching the wee, troolin' balls. It's a grand, excitin' pastime. We'll be lookin' on at a game o 1 peever next if we're not careful, like a band o' silly lassies." He paused and queried pertinently, "Who has won, Provost? Will ye tell me you that's such a grand spokesman for the town?"
"This game's not finished yet," replied Grierson after a moment's hesitation, and still with his eyes averted. The spite which he had once entertained against Brodie now found nothing in the other's wretched condition with which to justify itself and seemed suddenly to have evaporated. Besides, was he not the Provost? "Nobody has won yet," he added more affably.
"This game's not won yet," echoed Brodie sardonically. "Well, well! I'm sorry to hear it. But I can tell ye a game that is won!"
He glared round them all and, his anger rising at their indifference, shouted:
"It's the Latta I'm talkin' about. Maybe ye think it's like this rotten game of bowls that you're watchin' not finished yet. But I tell you it is finished finished and done wi' and it's my Nessie that's won it!"
"Hush, man, hush!" exclaimed Gordon, who sat immediately confronted by Brodie. "I can't see the play for ye. Sit down or stand aside and don't blatter the ears off us."
"I'll stand where I like. Shift me if ye can," retorted Brodie dangerously. Then he sneered : "Who are you to talk, anyway? You're only the ex-provost you're not the king o' the castle any more it's our dear friend Grierson that's got your shoes on now and it's him I'm wantin' to speak to." He directed his sneering gaze at Grierson and addressed him: "Did you hear what I said about the Latta,
Provost? No! Dinna start like that I havena forgotten about that braw son o' yours. I know well that he's gone up for it. Provost Grierson's son is up for the Latta. God! It must be as good as in his pocket."
"I never said that yet," replied Grierson, provoked in spite of himself. "My boy can take his chance! It's not as if he was needin' the money for his education, onyway."
Brodie ground his teeth at the sharp implication in the other's careless words and tried fiercely to force his brain to contrive some devastating reply, but as always, when opposing Grierson, he could find no suitable expression of his wrath. The thought that he, who had advanced a moment ago in lordly indifference, had been rendered impotent by a word, goaded him, and, sensing also that he was not creating the impression upon them which he had wished, his temper overcame him and he shouted:
"Why did ye ask me to withdraw my daughter if ye didna want your whelp to win it? answer me that, you sneakin' swine! You stopped me at the Cross and asked me to keep back my Nessie."
"Tuts! Don't shout like that at my ear, man," retorted Grierson coolly. "I don't like the reek o' your breath. I told ye before I was thinkin' of your Nessie. Somebody that's qualified to speak asked me to mention it to ye. I wasna wantin' to do it and now I'm sorry I did mention it."
"You're a liar!" bawled Brodie. "You're a damned mealy-mouthed liar!"
"If ye've come here to force a quarrel on me, I'll not let ye do it," returned Grierson. "There's no lying about the matter and no secret either. Now that your daughter has gone up, I don't mind tellin’ you it was Doctor Renwick asked me to speak to ye."
"Renwick!" exclaimed Brodie incredulously. He paused; then, as a light dawned upon him, he shot out, "I see! I see it plain. You put him up to it. He's hand in glove with you against me. He hates me just as much as do as much as ye all do." He swept his arm blindly around them. "I know you're all against me, you jealous swine, but I don't care. Ill win through. Til trample over ye all yet. Have any of ye got a daughter that can win the Latta? Answer me that!"
"If your daughter does win the Latta," cried some one, "what the de'il does it matter to us? Let her get it and good luck to her. I don't give a tinker's curse who wins it."
Brodie gazed at the speaker.
"Ye don't care?" he replied slowly. "Ye do care you're leein' to me. It'll spite the faces off ye if a Brodie wins the Latta."
"Away home, man, for God's sake," said Gordon quietly. "You're not yourself. You're drivelin'. You can't know what you're sayin'.”
"I'll go when I like," mumbled Brodie. The stimulation of the drink suddenly left him, his fierceness waned, he no longer desired to rush upon Grierson and tear him apart, and, as he gazed at their varying expressions of unconcern and disgust, he began to feel profoundly sorry for himself, to ask himself if this could be the same company which he had dominated and overawed in the past. They had never liked him but he had controlled them by his power, and now that they had escaped from out his grasp, his sympathy towards himself grew so excessive that it reached the point of an exceeding sorrow which sought almost to express itself in tears.
"I see how it is," he muttered gloomily, addressing them at large. "Ye think I'm all over and done wi'. I'm not good enough for ye now. God! If it didna make me laugh, it would make me greet. To think that ye should sit there and look down your noses at me at me that comes of stock that's so high above ye they wouldna even use ye as doormats." He surveyed them each in turn, looking vainly for some sign of encouragement, some indication that he was impressing them. Then, although no sign came, he still continued, more slowly and in a dejected, unconvincing tone:
"Don't think that I'm finished! I'm comin' up again. Ye can't keep a good man down and ye'll not keep me down, however much ye may try. Wait and see what my Nessie will do. That'll show ye that stuff that's in us. That's why I came here. I don't want to know ye. I
only wanted to tell ye that Nessie Brodie would win the Latta, and now that I've done it, I'm satisfied!" His moody eye swept them, then finding that he had nothing more to say, that they too were silent, he moved off; yet after a few paces he arrested himself, turned, opened his mouth to speak; but no speech came and at length he lowered his head, swung around, and again shambled off. They let him go without a word.
As he left the confines of the Green and proceeded along the road, nursing bitterly his wounded pride, he suddenly perceived in the distance the dim figures of his two daughters approaching him from the station. He stared at them almost stupidly, at Nessie and Mary Brodie, both of them his children, as though the strange sight of them together in the public street confused him. Then all at once he realised that Nessie was returning from her examination, that Mary had disobeyed him by meeting the train. No matter! He could deal later with Mary, but now he desired urgently to know how Nessie had fared, to appease his wounded vanity in the knowledge of her success, and walking forward quickly, he met them, confronted them in the middle of the pavement. There, absorbing eagerly every detail of the younger girl's tired face, he cried:
"How did ye get on, Nessie? Quick! Tell me was everything all right?"
"Yes," she murmured. "Everything was all right."
"How many books did ye fill? Was it two or three?"
"Books?" she echoed faintly. "I only wrote in one book. Father."
"Only one book!" he exclaimed. "Yc only filled one book for all the time ye've been away." He considered her in astonishment, then, his face slowly hardening, he demanded harshly, "Can ye not speak, woman? Don't ye see I want to know about the Latta. I’m asking you for the last time. Will you tell me once and for all how ye got on?"
With a great effort she controlled herself, looked at him out of her placating eyes and, forcing her pale lips into a smile, cried:
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