"Have you been to the country, Mr Cupples?" asked Alec, as he took a chair.
"The country! Na, I haena been i' the country. I'm a toon-snail. The country's for calves and geese. It's ower green for me. I like the gray stanes—weel biggit, to haud oot the cauld. I jist reverse the opingon o' the auld duke in Mr Shackspere;—for this my life
'Find trees in tongues, its running brooks in books,
Stones in sermons,—-'
and I canna gang on ony farther wi' 't. The last's true ony gait. I winna gie ye ony toddy though."
"I dinna want nane."
"That's richt. Keep to that negation as an anchor o' the soul, sure and steadfast. There's no boddom to the sea ye'll gang doon in gin ye cut the cable that hauds ye to that anchor. Here's to ye!"
And again Mr Cupples emptied his glass.
"Hoo are ye prepared for yer mathematics?" he resumed.
"Middlin' only," answered Alec.
"I was doobtin' that. Sma' preparation does weel eneuch for Professor
Fraser's Greek; but ye'll fin' it's anither story wi' the mathematics.
Ye maun jist come to me wi' them as ye did wi' the Greek."