"Are you ready to go, Mr. Jacobs?" said Dr. Steele.
"If you please, sir, we will now take our departure;"—gathering the four volumes of Macknight on the Epistles under his arm;—"Good morning, Mr. Stillingfleet; good morning, Mr. Rubens. I am indebted to your kindness, gentlemen—ahem!"
"This is the way out, Mr. Jacobs," said Steele to his diffident friend from West Weathersfield, who, in his embarrassment, was going out at the wrong door.
"I beg your pardon, sir—ahem!" replied Mr. Jacobs, with a bashful smile. And Dr. Steele, pointing to the true exit, ushered his rustic and reverend protégé from the sacred precinct of learning.
CHAPTER II.
Richt hardie baith in ernist and play.—Sir David Lyndsay.
"Morton, what was the little old fogy in the white cravat saying to you just now in the library?"
"Telling me that my father was a worthy man, and that he hoped I should make just such another."
"Ah, that was kind of him."