“We’ve been neglectful, Aunt Jane,” said Archie, “but we’ll do better after this.” The sense that he had been good to one, in one direction, made his heart all the softer in every way. “It’s all been so new, and there is so much to learn; but it will never happen again.”
“Na, na, ye must not take me in earnest like that,” said Jane. “I gie a girn, but—I’ve no evil meaning. And here’s the tea. Just draw in your chair and come near the table, Mr. ——, but I didn’t rightly catch your name.”
“Most people call me Eddy,” said the young man with a laugh.
“And a very good name too. You’ll be from the south? though I have kent many Adies in our ain country. But ye have a grand way of speaking, and I hope Archie ye’ll take an example. I’m no fond of knapping English, but it’s a’ the fashion, and mair does it than has ony right.”
“I will just speak as I was born to speak,” said Archie, with a taste of his native obstinacy.
“Weel, weel, it’s no for me to interfere. But ye havena said a word aboot Mey? She might have come with ye, to look in upon her auld aunt. But it was aye oot of sight oot of mind with Mey. Ye are mair faithful, Archie. Have you heard of the great changes in the Road? (Mrs. Brown said Rod). Lizzie White, that was once out and in of the house every day, she is married upon Mr. Wright, a watchmaker in Buchanan Street—just a very excellent match. Oh yes, ye must mind very well, for I used to think that if ye wasna both so young—. And then the Cowcaddens, that made just a great show, with cabs at their door every day, and pairties and dancing and I dinna ken all what—has failed, poor man, and the house roupit, and them living in some poor close somewhere, just as miserable as they can be, which shows what prideful wasting and high living must come to. And oh, Archie, there is another thing I just want to speak to you about. You mind Colin Jamieson that was at the College, and meaning to be a minister—poor lad! he’s fallen into a dwining and an ill way, and they say he maun go to Egypt or some of thae places. And his folk are poor folk, and he just smiles and says ‘they might as well tell me to gang to the moon.’ Archie, I had the pen in my hand yesterday to write you a letter. Eh, laddie, ye aye had an open hand. If ye would maybe spare out of your abundance a little siller to help this poor lad! He would never ask it, but from an auld comrade that was so well off, there could be nae reason for refusing. Archie, if your heart were to speak.”
There was a dead pause, and it seemed to poor Archie that heaven was against him. He who would have been so ready, so anxious to offer anything he had—and he had nothing! He could not speak; and that this demand should have been made before Eddy made it more dreadful still. But Eddy did not take it in that point of view. He was not called upon to say anything. He sat calmly eating the cake with which Mrs. Brown had supplied him. Eddy was not embarrassed at all; he was much interested in a half-comic way to know how Rowland would get out of it. To a fellow like that it would be hard to refuse, and Eddy felt that it was a very good thing he had got all the money, or else to a certainty the fool would have given it to this other man, who probably would do much better to stay at home. He ate his cake, therefore, and drank his tea with an amused and interested mind, looking on with a perfectly tranquil perception of all that was involved.
“Aunt Jane,” said Archie, stammering and blushing, “I am more sorry than words can say—but I have not got the money. I would give it—or my heart’s blood if I could—to an old friend like Colin. But I haven’t it. I haven’t it! If it would do at the New Year—”
“He will likely be in his grave by the New Year,” said Mrs. Brown, “if he canna get away.” Jane had drawn herself within herself, so to speak. She rose a head taller as she sat, over her tea-tray, her portly person seemed to draw in, the beaming expression departed from her face. To be refused! and by her own boy! and before a stranger! and with a lee! for how could he be without money. He that had got a twenty pound note as she herself knew, only four months before, just a fortune for a callant like Archie? besides more no doubt where that came from, Jims Rowland being just too liberal. It was to Mrs. Brown as if all the waves of the Clyde had dashed into her face. For a moment she could make no reply.
“Archie,” she said at last solemnly, “I’m no fond of much troke about money between friends. It’s very likely to lead to ill-blood. But I thought for Colin, that ye once were so fond of, if I might speak—you have maybe,” she said with keen irony, “forgotten who he was. I’ve often seen that folk have but short memories that rise in the world. He’s the lad who got you into your grand club. Ye may not think much of it now, but ‘twas a grand thing for ye then. It was him ye used to consult about your debating and all that, and that was sae good at the footba’, and that learnt ye—”