“He’s a sea captain—in the Sutton Line!” declared Donald proudly. The other paused and looked at him in surprise. “Is he? Whit boat is he on?” There was curiosity in his tone.
“The Cardonia!”
McGlashan made an exclamation of pleased astonishment. “My! but that’s funny,” he said. “Ma faither’s bos’n on the Cardonia an’ he’s great pals wi’ your auld man. They get on fine thegither. Jist think o’ that noo! Is she no th’ fine shup th’ Cardonia? Did ye ever see th’ bate o’ her?” And the two boys were chums instantly.
Mrs. McKenzie came down at four and took Donald home in a cab. “And how did you get on, dear?” she asked—nervously glancing at the noisy mob of school children who were lingering around to watch “the toff gaun hame in a cab!”
“Fine, mamma, fine! I’ve got a chum already—Joak McGlashan—and his papa’s bos’n on the Cardonia! He says his pa’s great pals with my old man!”—(Mrs. McKenzie gasped)—“and mamma, Joak is a gey tough yin!”—(Another gasp)—“he can stand twenty swipes on the hand from the teacher’s strap without bubblin’! Aye, an’ he’s going to put a horse-hair on his hand next time he gets punished and he’ll split Mister Corey’s strap to bits. I’m going to bring Joak out to tea some time soon”—(the mother shuddered)—“and he’s going to learn me to stand on my hands and skin the cat and sklim a lamp-post!” At the mention of this contingency and the terms used in naming certain athletic accomplishments, Mrs. McKenzie reached for her smelling salts and felt that the carefully built fabric of years was crumbling.
To her husband that night, Janet said dolefully, “I’m afraid Donald is going to lose all his gentility and good manners at that common school. He has chummed up already with a Jock McGlashan who says that his father is a great ‘pal’ of yours—a boatswain or something on your ship—”
McKenzie laughed. “Oh, yes!—McGlashan! Well! He’s a good honest sort of a fellow and he’s sailed with me a good many years. It won’t hurt Donald to be democratic. When I was a young chap I ate and slept and shared clothes and tobacco with fellows who are quartermasters with me now, and good chaps they are too. Don’t bring our boy up to believe he’s better than anybody else. If you do, he’ll be like a young bear—all his troubles before him.”
“But Donald wishes to bring this McGlashan boy up here to play with him!” protested Janet. “Just think of the manners of M’Clure street being introduced here!”
The other smiled and patted his wife’s hand. “Don’t worry, dear. If Donald wants young McGlashan to play with him here, let him do so. Better to have McGlashan here than have Donald go down to M’Clure street. He won’t learn any more deviltry from my bos’n’s kid than he would from young Sampson or the other imps who live in this neighborhood.” Then, in a kindly tone, he added significantly, “You know, Janet, I was never one for making distinctions in breed or birth. One finds true gentlemen and real ladies dressed in the meanest clothes and serving in the humblest capacities. Let Donald have plenty of rope and don’t coddle him too much.”
Young McKenzie’s introduction to public school life was rather a severe trial to a delicately nurtured boy, who had so far been, as jeering school-mates declared, “tied tae his mither’s apron strings!” His undoubted cleverness in the school-room commanded no admiration from his kind. On the other hand, he was reviled and held up to contempt as one who was false to school-boy traditions by actually studying his lessons—“tae keep in wi’ th’ teacher!” The majority of Scotch boys preferred to have their lessons driven into their hard heads by dint of much corporal punishment rather than lose valuable play hours by “dinnin’ ower their buiks.”