“It has become available only just in time. I would not, for the world, say that your accent is Scotch, but you must excuse my saying that now and then there is just a little suggestion of, one might say, finely-ground oatmeal, in your otherwise irreproachable speech. Yes, I think you cannot do better than cultivate my acquaintance as much as possible.”
Jeanie, after flashing a look of indignation at Benson, darted into the house.
Three
Life at the Institution was void of all but the most trivial incident. Miss Mellish began to thaw slightly towards Benson. This was soon attributed by the astute Allister to its true cause: gratitude to the schoolmaster for having attracted Jeanie. Miss Mellish was, of course, fully persuaded that the latter was a designing minx, who had deliberately set her cap at Mr Mactavish. He was no longer actively aggressive, but had remained implacable in so far as the drumstick question was concerned. Two months after their arrival neither Benson nor Allister had tasted wing, breast or liver of the many birds at whose autopsies they had been present. Benson often joined Jeanie in her walks, for the purpose, as he said, of safeguarding the purity of her accent.
At length the day arrived when Mr Mactavish’s place at the dinner-table was vacant. He was reported as being very ill with gout. A messenger was sent with speed to the Residency for Dr Jenkin, the District Surgeon, but that practitioner was found to be suffering from incipient delirium tremens. Then Allister was called in.
That evening Allister came to Benson’s room, where he sat down and gravely lit his pipe.
“Well, how is Mr Mactavish?” asked Benson.
“His physical malady is subsidin’ but I fear his mental condition is no that o’ a professin’ Christian.”
“Well, I’m glad the old chap is better. I’ve always heard that gout affected the temper.”