After a peculiarly uncomfortable meal, Alec Lindsay set out for ‘The College.’
The University of Glasgow, founded by a Bull of one of the mediæval Popes, had in those days its seat in the High Street, once the main thoroughfare of the city, but long since fallen from its old estate. The air seemed thicker, more full of smoke and soot, of acid vapours and abominable smells, in this quarter, than in any other part of the town.
An ancient pile of buildings faced the street; and a quaint gateway gave access to the outer quadrangle or ‘first court,’ as Alec soon learned to call it. Here a solid stone staircase, guarded by a stone lion on one side and a unicorn on the other, led to the senate-room above; and an archway led to a quadrangle beyond.
But Alec had scarcely time to observe as much as this. Hardly had he set foot within the gateway, when a gigantic man wearing a huge black beard stalked up to him, and without more ado caught him by the arm, while a small crowd of half a dozen lads of his own age, wearing gowns of red flannel, swarmed round him on the other side.
‘I say!’ exclaimed the big man; ‘you’re going to matriculate, aren’t you?’
‘Of course; that’s what I came here for.’
‘And where were you born?’
‘Where was I born?’ asked Alec, in bewilderment.
‘Yes; be quick, man. Do you come from Highlands or Lowlands, or from beyond the Border?’
‘Why do you want to know?’