"Dod," said Jock Howieson, with much native shrewdness, "aifter all his palaver it's naething but anither confounded exercise," for that worthy had suffered much through impositions, and had never been able to connect one sentence with another in an intelligent manner. "The Dowbiggins can go if they want, and they're welcome to the books. I'm going next Saturday to Woody Island—will you come, Speug?" And it hung in the balance whether or not the Count would be openly affronted next Saturday when he found himself in the company of half a dozen "swats," while his "jolly dogs" were off in a pack to their island of romance.
Speug could not imagine himself sitting in a class-room on Saturday afternoon, except under brute force, and yet he felt it would be ungrateful after all his kindness to leave the Count in the company of such cheerless objects as the Dowbiggins. The remembrance of all the sporting prizes he had won at the Count's hands, and the sight of the Count cheering at the sports, came over his ingenuous heart and moved him to the most unselfish act of his life. "Jock Howieson," said Speug, with considerable dignity, "ye may go to Woody Island if ye like, but it 'ill be the dirtiest trick ye ever played, and I'll black both yir een for ye on Monday. Have we ever had a match, cricket or football, the last four years, and the Count hesna been there? Who got up the sports and gave the prizes? Tell me that, Jock? Who stands ginger-beer at Lucky MacWhae's, answer me that, Jock, ye meeserable wretch?" and then clinching every argument on "Who paid for the broken glass? I'm doon richt ashamed o' ye, Jock Howieson."
"Will ye go yourself, Speug?" demanded Jock, writhing under this torrent of reproach. "I think I see ye writin' an essay on the history o' the Romans, or sic like trash. Ye 'ill hunt us into Bulldog's class-room, and then go off yirsel to shoot rabbits; but ye 'ill no' play ony tricks on me, Peter McGuffie."
"I will go," said Speug, manfully, "though I'll no' promise to write."
"Say as sure's death," said Jock, knowing Speug's wiles.
"Sure as death," said Speug, and then the school knew, not only that he would go, though he had to sit six hours instead of one, but also that every self-respecting boy in the Seminary must also put in an appearance at the Count's reception.
"Best thing you ever did, Speug," said Nestie on the way home, "since you p—pulled me out of the Tay, and I should say that you have a good chance of the prize. What the Count wants is ori—gin—ginality, and I never heard a chap with so much original talk as you've got, Speug. Just you put some of it down, like what you give to the P—pennies, and you'll come out first, and it'll be the first prize you ever won."
"If there was a prize for impidence, and the entries were open to all Scotland," said Speug, "ye would pass the post first and trottin'."
"How I Spent My Saturday,"
was what the school saw on the board when the Count removed the white cloth, and then he gave a brief exposition of his desires.