‘He comes from the county of Clackmannan; I know by the cut of his hair!’ yelled a red-haired, freckled youth of some seventeen summers.
‘Get out, you unmannerly young cub!’ cried the big man, making a dash at the offender, without releasing his hold of Alec’s arm.
‘Are you Transforthana?’ cried another. ‘Oh, say if you’re Transforthana, like a good fellow, and don’t keep us in suspense.’
‘He’s Rothseiana! I know it!’ bawled out a fourth.
At this point a little man in spectacles darted from a low doorway on the left with a sheaf of papers printed in red ink, which he began to distribute as fast as he could. Instantly the men who had fastened upon Alec left him, and rushed off to secure one of the papers, and Alec followed their example.
After some little trouble he got one, and then elbowing his way out of the crowd, began to read it. He found it was a not very comical parody of ‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ the allusions being half of a political, half of an academical character.
Looking up with a puzzled air, Alec encountered the gaze of a man ten or twelve years his senior, who was regarding him with a look of mingled interest and amusement. He was considerably over six feet high, and broad in proportion. He wore a suit of tweeds, a blue Scotch bonnet, and a reddish-brown beard. He had the high cheek-bones and large limbs of the true Highlander, and one of his eyes had a slight cast. When he smiled, he had a cynical but not unkindly expression.
‘I wish you would tell me what all this nonsense is about,’ said Alec.
‘What nonsense would ye like to pe informed apoot?’ inquired the other in a strong Highland accent—‘the nonsense in that bit paper? Or the nonsense o’ these daft callants? Or the nonsense o’ this haill thing?’ and he waved his thick stick round the quadrangle.
‘What is all this stir about? Why were a’ these fellows so anxious to know where I was born?’