It had been a sore trial of his manhood to keep his vow after he knew that Alec was safe in the haven of a sick-bed. He knew that for him, if he were once happy again, there was little danger of a relapse; for his physical nature had not been greatly corrupted: there had not been time for that. He would rise from his sickness newborn. Hence it was the harder for Mr Cupples, in his loneliness, to do battle with his deep-rooted desires. He would never drink as he had done, but might he not have just one tumbler?�-That one tumbler he did not take. And—rich reward!�-after two months the well of song within him began to gurgle and heave as if its waters would break forth once more in the desert; the roseate hue returned to the sunsets; and the spring came in with a very childhood of greenness.�-The obfuscations of self-indulgence will soon vanish where they have not been sealed by crime and systematic selfishness.
Another though inferior reward was, that he had money in his pocket: with this money he would go and see Alec Forbes. The amount being small, however, he would save it by walking. Hence it came that he arrived late and weary. Entering the first shop he came to, he inquired after a cheap lodging. For he said to himself that the humblest inn was beyond his means; though probably his reason for avoiding such a shelter was the same as made him ask Alec to throw the bottle out of the garret. Robert Bruce heard his question, and, regarding him keenly from under his eyebrows, debated with himself whether the applicant was respectable�-that is, whether he could pay, and would bring upon the house no discredit by the harbourage. The signs of such a man as Cupples were inscrutable to Bruce; therefore his answer hung fire.
"Are ye deif, man?" said Cupples; "or are ye feared to tyne a chance by giein' a fair answer to a fair queston?"
The arrow went too near the mark not to irritate Bruce.
"Gang yer wa's," said he. "We dinna want tramps i' this toon."
"Weel, I am a tramp, nae doobt," returned Cupples; "for I hae come ilka bit o' the road upo' my ain fit; but I hae read in history o' twa or three tramps that war respectable fowk for a' that. Ye winna gie onything i' this chop, I doobt�-nae even information.�-Will ye sell me an unce o' pigtail?"
"Ow, ay. I'll sell't gin ye'll buy't."
"There's the bawbees," said Cupples, laying the orthodox pence on the counter. "And noo will ye tell me whaur I can get a respectable, dacent place to lie doon in? I'll want it for a week, at ony rate."
Before he had finished the question, the door behind the counter had opened, and young Bruce had entered. Mr Cupples knew him well enough by sight as a last year's bejan.
"How are you?" he said. "I know you, though I don't know your name."