Gourlay turned to him quietly. "Thank you, baker," he said slowly. "But don't interfere on my behalf! John Gourla"—he dwelt on his name in ringing pride—"John Gourla can fight for his own hand—if so there need to be. And pay no heed to the thing before ye. The mair ye tramp on a dirt it spreads the wider!"
"Who was referring to you?" bellowed Brodie.
Gourlay looked over at him in the far corner of the brake, with the wide-open glower that made people blink. Brodie blinked rapidly, trying to stare fiercely the while.
"Maybe ye werena referring to me," said Gourlay slowly. "But if I had been in your end o' the brake ye would have been in hell or this!"
He had said enough. There was silence in the brake till it reached Skeighan. But the evil was done. Enough had been said to influence Gourlay to the most disastrous resolution of his life.
"Get yourself ready for the College in October," he ordered his son that evening.
"The College!" cried John aghast.
"Yes! Is there ainything in that to gape at?" snapped his father, in sudden irritation at the boy's amaze.
"But I don't want to gang!" John whimpered as before.