‘I don’t know yet,’ said Alec.
His uncle sniffed contemptuously.
‘A rowin’ stane gethers nae fog,’[6] put in Aunt Jean.
Alec changed the subject; but his grand-uncle soon returned to it.
‘The sooner ye mak’ up yer mind the better, my lad,’ said the old man. ‘Would you like to go into the oil-works?’ he added, as if it were an after-thought.
‘I hardly know, sir. I would like another year at College first,’ said Alec. ‘But thank you all the same, Uncle James;’ and as he spoke he rose to take his leave.
Mr. Lindsay paid no sort of attention to the latter part of the reply. He took up a newspaper, and adjusting his spectacles began to read it, almost before the lad had turned his back.
In another week the session was practically at an end. The prize-list, settled by the votes of the students themselves, showed that Alec had won the fourth prize, which in a class numbering nearly two hundred was a proof of at least a fair amount of application; and he also won an extra prize for Roman History.
‘You don’t seem much elated,’ said Cameron to his friend, when he brought home the splendidly-bound volumes of nothing in particular. ‘You’ve either less ambition or more sense than I gave you credit for.’
‘I expected something better,’ said Alec. ‘Self-conceit, you should have said, not sense, Duncan.’