Macgregor, however, presented himself in good time for the Sunday breakfast. His punctuality was too much for his mother, and she insisted on his taking a dose from the bottle on the dresser. Even youth is sometimes too tired to argue. “Onything for peace,” was his ungracious remark as he raised the spoon to his lips.
* * * * *
Scotland in its harshest, bleakest period of religious observance could not have provided a more dismal Sabbath than Macgregor provided for himself. Although his mother gave him the option of staying at home, he accompanied his parents to church; although he came back with a good appetite, he refused to let himself enjoy his dinner; although he desired to take the accustomed Sunday afternoon walk with his father down to the docks (they had gone there, weather permitting, for years), he shut himself up in the solitude of his bedroom.
He spent most of the afternoon in putting points to his stock of pencils. How the operation should have occupied so much time may be explained by the fact that the lead almost invariably parted from the wood ere a perfect point was attained. Indeed, when the task was ended, he had comparatively little to show for his threepence save a heap of shavings, fragments and dust. His resentment, however, was all against M. Tod; he wished she had been of his own sex and size. He also wished she had kept an ice-cream shop, open on Sundays.—No, he didn’t! Christina wouldn’t like working on Sundays; besides, an awful lot of chaps hung about ice-cream shops. He wondered what church Christina attended. If he only knew, he might go there in the evening. (What our churches owe to young womanhood will never be known.) But there were scores of churches in Glasgow. It would take years to get round them—and in the end she might sit in the gallery and he under it. In the unlikely event of his again entering Miss Tod’s shop, there would be no harm in asking Christina about her church and whether she sang in the choir. But stop! if she didn’t sing in the choir, she might think he was chaffing her. That wouldn’t do at all. Better just find out about the church, and if he didn’t get a view of her on his first visit he could try again.
There appears no reason why Macgregor’s spirits should have gradually risen throughout these and other equally rambling reflections; but the fact remains that they did so. By tea-time he was in a comely condition of mind. He made young Jimsie happy with the cake of rubber and presented Jeannie surreptitiously with a penny, “to buy sweeties.” He seemed interested in his father’s account of a vessel that had been in collision the previous day. He did not scowl when his mother expressed satisfaction with the way in which he was punishing the bread and butter, and openly congratulated herself on having administered the physic just in time. Nay, more; he offered to stay in the house with Jimsie while John and Lizzie took an evening stroll and Jeannie went with a friend to evening service. No people are quite so easily made happy as parents, and when, out-of-doors, John suggested that Macgregor’s weekly allowance should be raised to one shilling, Lizzie actually met him half-way by promising to make it ninepence in future.
During their absence Macgregor did his utmost to amuse Jimsie, who was suffering from an incipient cold, but shortly after their return he became restless, and ere long announced (rather indistinctly) his intention of going out for “twa-three” minutes.
Lizzie was about to ask “where?” when John remarked that it was a fine night and that he would come too. Thus was frustrated Macgregor’s desire to take one look at the shuttered shrine with “M. Tod” over the portal—a very foolish sort of desire, as many of us know—from experience.
In the circumstances Macgregor accepted his father’s company with a fairly good grace, merely submitting that the walk should be a short one.
On the way home, at a corner, under a lamp, they came upon Willie Thomson in earnest and apparently amicable conversation with Jessie Mary. Such friendliness struck Macgregor as peculiar, for since the days of their childhood the twain had openly expressed contempt and dislike for each other, and he wondered what was “up,” especially when the sight of him appeared to cause Willie, at least, considerable embarrassment. But presently the happy idea flashed upon him that Willie had suddenly become “sweet” on Jessie Mary, and would accordingly need to be dodged no longer. He felt more friendly towards Willie than for some time past. His feelings with regard to Jessie Mary were less definite, but he was sure his face had not got “extra red” under her somewhat mocking glance.
“Ye’re no’ as thick wi’ Wullie as ye used to be,” his father remarked.