But when the winter session commenced, and he entered Divinity Hall, as it is phrased, he threw up teaching. He was determined to do nothing now to endanger his health.
Willie had entered a stockbroker’s office, so the two sincere friends did not see quite so much of each other all the week. But there were always the Saturday afternoons, and the Sundays to boot. Indeed, at such times, if Willie was not at Kilbuie Cottage, it was because Sandie and he both were at the Provost’s beautiful home in King Street.
And so the time passed by quickly and happily enough; this winter flew away, and summer came again.
Then Sandie renewed his coaching.
“Monday is Bank holiday,” said Willie, one Saturday afternoon, as he with Elsie and Sandie sat in the back summer-house, listening to the sweet sad song of a merle perched upon a crimson-flowered May-tree. “Yes, Sandie, Monday is Bank holiday, and do you know what I should dearly like to do?”
“No.”
“Guess.”
“Go to Mackenzie’s?”
“Ah! Sandie, Mackenzie’s is a good deal in your head.”
What made Sandie blush, I wonder, and slightly alter his position?