After Miss Binkie retired, the Provost grew more and more convivial. He would not enter into business, but regaled me with numerous anecdotes of his past exploits, and of the lives and conversation of his compatriots in the Town Council—some of whom appeared, from his description, to be very facetious individuals indeed. More particularly, he dwelt upon the good qualities and importance of a certain Mr Thomas Gills, better known to his friends and kinsfolk by the sobriquet of Toddy Tam, and recommended me by all means to cultivate the acquaintance of that personage. But, however otherwise loquacious, nothing would persuade the Provost to launch out upon the subject of the Clique. He really seemed to entertain as profound a terror of that body as ever Huguenot did of the Inquisition, and he cut me short at last by ejaculating—
“Sae nae mair on’t, Mr Dunshunner—sae nae mair on’t! It’s ill talking on thae things. Ye dinna ken what the Clique is, nor whaur it is. But this I ken, that they are everywhere, and a’ aboot us; they hear everything that passes in this house, and I whiles suspect that Mysie, the servant lass, is naething else than are o’ them in petticoats!”
More than this I could not elicit. After we had finished a considerable quantum of port, we adjourned to the drawing-room, and, tea over, Miss Binkie sang to me several of her own songs, whilst the Provost snored upon the sofa. Both the songs and the singer were clever, the situation was interesting, and, somehow or other, I found my fingers more than once in contact with Maggie’s, as I turned over the leaves of the music.
At last the Provost rose, with a stertoracious grunt. I thought this might be the signal for retiring to rest; but such were not the habits of Dreepdaily. Salt herrings and finnan-haddocks were produced along with the hot water and accompaniments; and I presume it was rather late before my host conducted me to my chamber. If I dreamed at all that night, it must have been of Margaret Binkie.
CHAPTER III.
The next morning, whilst dressing, I heard a blithe voice carolling on the stair. It was the orison of Margaret Binkie as she descended to the breakfast-room. I listened and caught the following verses:—
“O haud away frae me,” she said,
“I pray you let me be!
Hae you the shares ye held, my lord,
What time ye courted me?
“’Tis woman’s weird to luve and pine,
And man’s is to forget:
Hold you the shares, Lord James,” she said,
“Or hae ye sold them yet?”
“My York Extensions, bought at par,
I sold at seven pund prem.—
And, O my heart is sair to think
I had nae mair of them!”
“That is really a remarkable girl!” thought I, as I stropped my razor. “Such genius, such animation, and such a thorough knowledge of the market! She would make a splendid wife for a railway director.”