“Ah, sir, Auchinleck,”—in gutturals the types will not reproduce,—“that would be two guineas, sir.”
“Very good,” I said; “pronounce it your own way, but let me have the motor.”
We were soon rolling over a road which Boswell must have taken many times, but certainly never so rapidly or luxuriously. How Dr. Johnson would have enjoyed the journey! I recalled his remark, “Sir, if I had no duties and no reference to futurity, I would spend my life driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman.” Futurity was not bothering me and I had a pretty woman, my wife, by my side. Moreover, to complete the Doctor’s remark, she was “one who could understand me and add something to the conversation.” We set out in high spirits.
As we approached the house by a fine avenue bordered by venerable trees,—no doubt those planted by the old laird, who delighted in such work,—my courage almost failed me; but I had gone too far to retire. To the servant who responded to my ring I stated my business, which seemed trivial enough.
I might as well have addressed a graven image. At last it spoke. “The family are away. The instructions are that no one is to be admitted to the house under pain of instant dismissal.”
Means elsewhere successful failed me here.
“You can walk in the park.”
“Thanks, but I did not come to Scotland to walk in a park. Perhaps you can direct me to the church where Boswell is buried.”
“You will find the tomb in the kirk in the village.”
Coal has been discovered on the estate, and the village, a mile or two away, is ugly, and, to judge from the number of places where beer and spirits could be had, their consumption would seem to be the chief occupation of the population. I found the kirk, with door securely locked. Would I try for the key at the minister’s? I would; but the minister was away for the day. Would I try the sexton? I would; but he, too, was away, and I found myself in the midst of a crowd of barefooted children who embarrassed me by their profitless attentions. It was cold and it began to rain. I remembered that we were not far from Greenock where “when it does not rain, it snaws.”