“If I was you I wad start greetin’ at yince,” said Erchie. “And he’ll leave onywye, this very Setturday.”
That afternoon the students were having a torchlight procession, when, as usual, most of them marched in masquerade. It was the day of the Rectorial Election, and the dust of far-flung pease-meal—favourite missile of the student—filled the air all over the classic slopes of Gilmorehill. It had been one of Erchie’s idle days; he had been in the house all afternoon, and still was unbedded, though Jinnet for once had retired without waiting the home-coming of her lodger.
There came a riotous singing of student’s along the street, accompanied by the wheezy strains of a barrel-organ, and for twenty minutes uproar reigned at the entrance to the MacPherson’s close.
Then Tod came up and opened the door with his latch-key. He had on part of Erchie’s professional habiliments—the waiter’s dress-coat and also Erchie’s Sunday silk hat, both surreptitiously taken from a press in the lobby. They were foul with pease-meal and the melted rosin from torches. On his shoulders Tod had strapped a barrel-organ, and the noise of it, as it thumped against the door-posts on his entry, brought Erchie out to see what was the matter.
He took in the situation at a glance, though at first he did not recognise his own clothes.
“It’s you, Mr Tod!” said he. “I was jist sittin’ here thinkin’ on ye slavin’ awa’ at your lessons yonder in the Deveenity Hall. It maun be an awfu’ strain on the intelleck. I’m gled I never went to the college mysel’, but jist got my education, as it were, by word o’ mooth.”
Tod breathed heavily. He looked very foolish with his borrowed and begrimed clothes, and the organ on his back, and he realised the fact himself.
“‘S all ri’, Mr MacPherson,” he said. “Music hath charms. Not a word! I found this—this instrument outside, and just took it home. Thought it might be useful. Music in the house makes cheerful happy homes—see advertisements—so I borrowed this from old friend, what’s name —Angina Pectoris, Italian virtuosa, leaving him the monkey. Listen.”
He unslung the organ and was starting to play it in the lobby when Erchie caught him by the arm and restrained him.
“Canny, man, canny,” said he. “Did I no’ think it was a box wi’ your bursary. I never kent richt whit a bursary was, but the lad o’ pairts in the novells aye comes hame wi’ a bursary, and hurts the spine o’ his back carryin’ his prizes frae the college. I jalouse that’s the hectic flush on your face; puir laddie, ye’re no’ lang for this warld.”