He moved about the room, fingering ornaments, picking up books and laying them down again.
"Archie Blair says the anxiety was so bad for his heart, that he's got to stop work right away, for all summer anyway, and perhaps longer. And his place is all planted, and yesterday, at my advice, he put a mortgage on it."
He stopped before his minister and looked at him with appealing, troubled eyes. "I feel as if I shouldn't have let him, but I didn't anticipate this."
Dr. Leslie sat drumming his fingers on the table, his face very grave.
"We can't see Angus McRae want, Edward. We're all indebted to him for something—every one of the session, and the minister most of all."
"The session!" Lawyer Ed jumped off the arm of the sofa where he had just perched. "There's an idea. If you laid it before them, they'd do something; and J. P. and I'll push it and Archie Blair will help."
The minister shook his head. "The session is a big body, Edward, and—" he smiled,—"it has wives and daughters. This must not be talked about. If we help Angus, we mustn't kill him at the same time by hurting his Highland pride."
Lawyer Ed whacked a sofa cushion impatiently with his cane.
"There it is, of course! Hang Scotchmen, anyway! You can't treat them like human beings. That abominable thing they call their pride—always clogs your wheels whichever way you go."
"Don't revile the tree from which you sprung, Edward," said the Scotchman, smiling.