The latter, a sombre man, whose air of respectability was almost oppressive, was one of a style of men common enough in Scotland. A small landed proprietor, he had contrived to become M.P. in the Liberal interest for a cluster of Scottish burghs (each of which, if in England, would have had two members), and he was chiefly noted—being 'Parliament House bred'—for neglecting Scottish interests and toadying to the Lord-Advocate, and consequently obtained the usual legal reward, a sheriffship, or something of that kind, with a thousand a year or so.
He seldom opened his mouth, save to talk on politics; he was tall and thin, with very square shoulders, grizzled, sandy, mutton-chop whiskers, apple-green eyes, and nothing more about him remarkable, save a curious air of perpetual self-assertion, combined, as we have said, with an oppressive one of respectability.
His host began to change the tenor of the conversation by hoping that Sir Paget found his quarters comfortable last night, adding that he occupied 'the Johnson Room.'
'Why is it so called?' asked Sir Paget, jerking forward his bald head.
'Dr. Johnson slept a night in Dundargue when on his famous tour.'
'Of which Boswell makes no mention?' said Mr. Logan, inquiringly.
'Because my ancestor did not pay him sufficient deference; and, indeed, I fear we should scarcely ever have heard of the literary bear of Bolt Court and Fleet Street but for that Scotch toady of his. Though he alleged that the most valuable piece of timber in Scotland was his walking-stick, he might have seen some fine trees at the Birks of Aberfeldy. We must ride over there, Sir Paget, and I will show you the cradle of the Black Watch, my old regiment of immortal memory.'
'How?'
'It was first mustered there on the 25th of October, 1739.'
'Ah!' said Sir Paget, who was not so much interested in the matter as the speaker.