“All right, old chap! Sorry I'll have to cut the van. I'm afraid my governor's got the carriage here for me.”
But the men all made outcry. There were other plans for him.
“But, Captain; hold on!”
“Aw, now, Captain! Don't forsake us!”
“But I say, Dunn, see us through; we're shy!”
“Don't leave us, Captain, or you'll be sorry,” sang out Martin. “Come on, fellows, let's keep next him! We'll give him 'Old Grimes!'”
Already a mighty roar was heard outside. The green, the drive, the gateways, and the street were blocked with the wildest football fanatics that Edinburgh, and all Scotland could produce. They were waiting for the International players, and were bent on carrying their great captain down the street, shoulder high; for the enthusiasm of the Scot reaches the point of madness only in the hour of glorious defeat. But before they were aware, Dunn had shouldered his mighty form through the opposing crowds and had got safely into the carriage beside his father and his young brother. But the crowd were bound to have him.
“We want him, Docthor,” said a young giant in a tam-o'-shanter. “In fac', Docthor,” he argued with a humourous smile, “we maun hae him.”
“Ye'll no' get him, Jock Murchison,” shouted young Rob, standing in front of his big brother. “We want him wi' us.”
The crowd laughed gleefully.