"Isn't it the truth?
"Weel, ye dinna look varra drunk, I'll say that. Aye, I'll say that."
"I am not talking of myself, Mr. Gowrie, but of you. Any one can see how you come to be here."
"Weel, weel," cried the ex-minister testily, "there's nae mair to be said. Ma sin's nae yer sin, but I doot ye've a glass hoose of your ain. What will ye do now?"
"Go to bed," snapped Herries, rising.
"Wull ye nae stap, and hae a crack?"
"No! I'll see you in the morning."
"Man, I'll be gone early. It's London I'm bound for. Joost sae, tae see an eeditor aboot an article on the modest daisy."
The young man shrugged his shoulders again. On another occasion he would have been amused at Gowrie's impudence, with his odd changes from Scotch to English. But the heart was out of him, and meeting with an old friend, even so fallen a one as Mr. Gowrie, he could not help breaking out with his troubles. An overcharged heart will speak, however reticent may be the nature of its possessor, and after fiddling with the door-handle for a few moments, Herries burst out----
"I'm a Jonah, Mr. Gowrie," he cried, almost savagely. "I swear that I have done all that a man could do, to earn an honest living, but everything has gone wrong with me. I am sober, honest, industrious and,--as you said,--clever----"