Yet, do what he might, he was unable to fill more than half a dozen small pages. He hesitated whether he should send them in, and held them in his inky fingers, thinking he would burn them. He was full of pity for his own inability. "I wish I was a clever chap," he said mournfully.
"Ach, well, I'll try my luck," he muttered at last, "though Tam may guy me before the whole class for doing so little o't."
The Professor, however (unlike the majority of Scottish professors), rated quality higher than quantity.
"I have learned a great deal myself," he announced on the last day of the session—"I have learned a great deal myself from the papers sent in on the subject of an 'Arctic Night.'"
"Hear, hear!" said an insolent student at the back.
"Where, where?" said the Professor; "stand up, sir!"
A gigantic Borderer rose blushing into view, and was greeted with howls of derision by his fellows. Tam eyed him, and he winced.
"You will apologize in my private room at the end of the hour," said Aquinas, as the students used to call him. "Learn that this is not a place to bray in."
The giant slunk down, trying to hide himself.