"I know I shouldn't do it, Gavin," he heard the latter say, "I'm really a teetotaler in Australia. Used to take a drop or two before I emigrated; but I'm an elder now, and I haven't tasted for years. However this is a special occasion."
Mr. Blake moved his chair to where he could catch a glimpse of the men. They were advanced in years, both about sixty-five, and their heads were gray. Their dress betokened plainness of nature, though that of the Australian might indicate prosperity. Both would seem uncultured, except in heart.
"A speecial occasion!" cried the one addressed as Gavin, "a speecial occasion! I should say it is—verra speecial! It's twa an' forty years sin we claspit ane anither's hand—man, Andra, friendship's sweet, an' God's guid! It wad be fair sinfu' no' ta tak a drop at sic a time as this. The minister himsel' wad taste, gin an auld schulemate came back after forty year. Sae wad the Apostle Paul—the stomach's sake was naethin' compared wi' this. What'll ye hae, Andra?"
"Let this be mine, Gavin," answered Andrew, reaching for his pocketbook. When it appeared, it was fat and full, and Gavin stole a wistful glance; for, in Scotland, colonial pocketbooks are proverbially plump. "What shall it be?" he added.
"Whatever ye say, Andra," answered Gavin. He glanced again at the disappearing purse and heaved a little sigh. Patriotism is not good for pocketbooks, thought Gavin.
"Well," said his old schoolmate, holding a sovereign between his thumb and finger as fondly as though he had lived in Scotland all his life; "well," said he, "I say champagne—here, waiter!"
But Gavin interrupted: "Na, na, Andra, dinna get champagne. I took it ance when the young Duke came o' age, an' I cudna hae tell't I had onything, half an hour later. I dinna care for ony o' thae aeryated waters. Forbye, it's awfu' dear, an' we can hae far mair o' the ither," he concluded, smiling tenderly at Andrew.
"The other" was produced; and it justified the trust reposed in it. Well it knew its duty, and well it played its part; for it burnished memory bright, stirred emotion from its hiding place, and even led tears out by long deserted paths.
The lonely man in the outer room watched, and envied, and secretly absolved his brother elder—the latter was giving abundant proof of his freedom from all narrow bigotry. Like himself, his old prowess had come back. He was confidential now:
"She wouldn't have me, Gavin. I told her I was rich, and that I loved her ever since I left. But she wouldn't listen to me. Then I told her I owned ten thousand sheep, and that I dreamed about her every night. But it never moved her. I told her I had twenty thousand pounds in the bank, and her picture next my heart besides—but she wouldn't. She said she was promised to another. Did you ever hear of Janet Strachan caring for any one else?"