For the life of him the douce Provost could not help laughing, as they went filing past his carriage.
Willie went with Sandie to his attic, and Sandie’s little busybody of a landlady placed before them a delicious supper of mashed potatoes, stewed tripe, and fragrant coffee.
“Glad we’ve got safe home,” said Sandie. “Aren’t you, Willie?”
“Oh, delighted, but I must say I enjoyed myself immensely. That bonfire was a beauty. I hope my dear old father won’t catch cold. And the soldiers will have nothing to do, if they do come, but drown out the dying embers of the fire.”
. . . . . .
The great prize of sixty pounds, tenable for two years, was to be competed for at the end of the present session. There were in reality two, one for Greek, the other for higher mathematics, but it was to the latter Sandie determined to bend all his energies, as he thought the competition would not here be so great.
Next to Sandie, if not indeed superior in this branch of the curriculum, was a Highland student of the name of Maclean, with whom I must now make the reader better acquainted.
Sandie, by the way, had made quite enough at the herring-fishing to render him independent of his dunderheaded pupil for one session at least; and for this he felt he could not be too thankful.
Maclean and he one day, while sauntering arm-in-arm along Union Street, deep in the mysteries of x + y, entered into a compact to study together. One evening it was to be in Sandie’s garret, and the next in Maclean’s diggings, as he termed his lodgings.
The first grind took place in our hero’s attic. At one o’clock, when both parted for the night, they each agreed that the evening had been most profitably spent.