“Nothing particular, sir; but only that, as my arm is now almost quite well, I think I shall relieve you of my company in a day or two, and go to Edinburgh. I see Major Neville is arrived there. I should like to see him.”
“Major whom?” said his uncle.
“Major Neville, sir,” answered the young soldier.
“And who the devil is Major Neville?” demanded the Antiquary.
“O, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “you must remember his name frequently in the newspapers—a very distinguished young officer indeed. But I am happy to say that Mr. M’Intyre need not leave Monkbarns to see him, for my son writes that the Major is to come with him to Knockwinnock, and I need not say how happy I shall be to make the young gentlemen acquainted,—unless, indeed, they are known to each other already.”
“No, not personally,” answered Hector, “but I have had occasion to hear a good deal of him, and we have several mutual friends—your son being one of them. But I must go to Edinburgh; for I see my uncle is beginning to grow tired of me, and I am afraid”—
“That you will grow tired of him?” interrupted Oldbuck,—“I fear that’s past praying for. But you have forgotten that the ecstatic twelfth of August approaches, and that you are engaged to meet one of Lord Glenallan’s gamekeepers, God knows where, to persecute the peaceful feathered creation.”
“True, true, uncle—I had forgot that,” exclaimed the volatile Hector; “but you said something just now that put everything out of my head.”
“An it like your honours,” said old Edie, thrusting his white head from behind the screen, where he had been plentifully regaling himself with ale and cold meat—“an it like your honours, I can tell ye something that will keep the Captain wi’ us amaist as weel as the pouting—Hear ye na the French are coming?”
“The French, you blockhead?” answered Oldbuck—“Bah!”