Not so, however, in the other end of the house. The victors were "blowing" a good deal of the bad luck they had had, and how they ought to have scored a dozen goals if "Sandy had not repeatedly allowed the ball to graze the goal-posts, instead of attempting to kick it out. They had, however, beaten the 'Vale,' and that was all they cared for, in the said tie. The Rangers they declared they did not fear, and from all they could hear, they were now quite able to meet the Queen's Park face to face."
With the Rangers, however, they had just sufficient to do on their own ground in the first match, but in the second came off victorious by five goals to one.
One Saturday evening we took forcible possession of Jack Cook's lodgings, which were situated near the Marie Stuart Hall, Crosshill. Jack was very fond of billiards, and sometimes pocketed several "pools" of an evening, when a few choice spirits congregated in "The Rooms." Jack's landlady had frequently threatened him with pains and penalties for treating anything approaching "elders' hours" with contempt, and once intensified it to instant dismissal, bag and baggage, for encouraging a lot of his chums in leading the chorus of Dickens' Bacchanalian song:
"We won't go home till morning,
Till morning, till morning,
We won't go home till morning,
Till daylight doth appear,"
at four o'clock A.M., under her kitchen window after a big cup tie, which the Conquerors had won. Jack, as a matter of precaution warned us that we were to comport ourselves with decency, and not rouse the aforesaid lady. Our friend had something in the bottle. We were comfortably seated, and the room filled with tobacco smoke, when a dim shadow was noticed at the door, and turned out to be Willie Fairfield, of the Flying Blues, who had just called to let us know he had received a telegram from Edinburgh announcing the defeat of the Hibernian in the protested match with Dumbarton, by six goals to two.
Willie, it may be mentioned, had drawn the Hibernian in our "sweep," and was, I may inform all concerned, well pleased with his luck when the ticket came out the bag; but now much crestfallen. Bill Weldon, however, who had secured Dumbarton in the same drawing, jumped off his chair at the success of the club he had secured, and remarked—"Look here, boys, Dumbarton are just about good enough to win the Association Cup, and I'll take evens on't." "Done," said a chorus of voices, and Mrs. Blank's parlour was for a few minutes transformed into a betting house on a small scale.
We had a long chat as to the respective merits of the Rangers and Dumbarton, who were to play their tie over again, in consequence of some informality, and after draining Jack's bottle, were accompanied to the door with solemn injunctions not to kick up a row on the stairs.
Weeks passed after this little incident, and the clubs left in our "sweep" were getting small by degrees and beautifully less. The Rangers, Partick, South-Western, Northern, 3rd L.R.V., Arthurlie, Kilmarnock Portland, Alexandra Athletic, Thornliebank, Heart of Midlothian, and even the plucky little Clyde were cleared off the list, and the Queen's Park had their own ado with Kilmarnock Athletic, and only beat that sturdy Ayrshire Club by three goals to two. All that now remained in the tie, in fact, were Q.P. and Dumbarton.
It was Weldon and Pate Brown for it now, and both began to dream of a good pocketful of "sovs."
Pate, who was engaged to charming little Lizzie Green, had been living very carefully for a time in prospect of shortly calling Lizzie his own, was only now a casual visitor to Cook's lodgings. One evening, on his way home from Ball & Field's, Pate began to reckon up his chances of winning the "sweep."