“Miss Brodie?”
“She is in the waiting room, Sir.”
“Then, for heaven's sake, bring her in! Davie, Davie! Where is that man now? Here, Davie, a message to Mr. Thomlinson.”
Davie entered with deliberate composure.
“My compliments to Mr. Thomlinson, and ask if he would step over at once. It is a matter of extreme urgency. Be quick!”
But Davie had his own mind as to the fitness of things. “Wad a note no' be better, Sir? Wull not—?”
“Go, will you!” almost shouted Mr. Rae.
Davie was so startled at Mr. Rae's unusual vehemence that he seized his cap and made for the door. “He'll no' come for the like o' me,” he said, pausing with the door-knob in his hand. “It's no' respectable like tae—”
“Man, will ye no' be gone?” cried Mr. Rae, rising from his chair.
“I will that!” exclaimed Davie, banging the door after him. “But,” he cried furiously, thrusting his head once more into the room, “if he'll no' come it's no' faut o' mine.” His voice rose higher and higher, and ended in a wrathful scream as Mr. Rae, driven to desperation, hurled a law book of some weight at his vanishing head.