_HARD WORK AND EARNEST STRUGGLES_
On the morning before starting for the distant city, Sandie had an
interview with his father.
“Now, daddie,” he said straightforwardly, “I am going to borrow money
from you. Mind you, it is only a loan, and as soon as I get my first
bursary money I will refund.”
“Don’t mention that, dear boy. You have made your mother and me as proud
as princes. You are an honour to us and an honour to the district,
though I say it to your face. Now, how much money do you want?”
“Well, I have my gown to buy and books to buy, besides a tweed suit of
clothes, a little longer in the legs than this, father; then my landlady
to pay, and so on. But ten pounds, father, will do amply.”
The money was soon forthcoming; then Mr. M‘Crae gave his son much good
advice, especially as to the evils of intemperance and bad company. To
this advice he, Scotsman-like, appended his blessing, and his last words
to Sandie were these: “Never forget to read the Book and pray.”
Sandie’s mother and sister promised that, in a few weeks’ time, they
would both come to Aberdeen and pay him a visit.
The boys had the minister’s blessing as well, and poor little Maggie May
cried bitterly when parting with Sandie, and, innocent morsel that she
was, held up her tear-bedewed face to be kissed.
Sandie all throughout the session never forgot dear Maggie May as he had
last seen her--her eyes swollen with weeping, but beautiful withal, as
she stood at the garden-gate, waving her wet handkerchief to him as long
as he was in sight.
* * * * *
John Adams was then the students’ bookseller. His shop was in the New
Market, and he really gave the boys bargains of second-hand books. To
him therefore went Sandie with his custom. John even went so far as to
recommend him a tailor, and having ordered a good useful suit of tweed
clothes, Willie and he went off to buy their gowns.
These gowns were of scarlet baize, with loose-hanging sleeves, and very
broad collars of dark red silk velvet. They are much the same at the
present time, but now-a-days the students wear trencher caps. Then they
did not. They might array themselves in Glengarries, in broad Prince
Charlies, or in Tarn o’ Shanters, just as they chose, so long as they
wore the gown.
The King’s College University gown had only a plain collar, and it had
no loose sleeves. The reason, it was said, why the gown was deprived of
sleeves was this: the students used to fasten a stone in the end of
each, and go swinging along the streets, hitting the passengers right
and left in all directions.
It was also said that at one time this King’s College gown had a velvet
collar, but that this was taken away on account of a crime the students
committed. It seems that a certain porter played the sneak, and got many
of them into serious trouble for some lark they had taken part in. They
determined to punish this porter by pretending to execute him.
At the midnight hour he was taken from his bed, his eyes were bandaged,
and he was led through the streets. When the bandage was removed, to the
poor fellow’s horror he found himself in a room all hung with black. At
one side sat judge and jury, at another stood, immovable as statues, two
masked men with broad axes beside a crape-covered block. The porter was
tried and at once condemned to death. He was allowed five minutes, then
led trembling to the block. His head was placed thereon.
“Strike!” cried the judge.
A student struck a light blow with a wet towel across the neck.
“Now,” said the judge, “now, Mr. Porter, you can get up. You’ve had your
fright, but take care how you play the sneak again. Arise!”
But the poor porter never moved.
He was dead!
Dead, from the very fear of death.
* * * * *
Buying those gowns afforded Sandie and Willie a good deal of fun. Well,
they were light-hearted, and inclined to make merry over anything. But
the gowns were so ridiculously long, they came down nearly to their
heels. That would never do. So they commanded the shopkeeper to dock
them by a foot at least; then they were paid for and taken away.
Classes were duly opened next day, and Sandie, somewhat shame-facedly it
must be confessed, walked out into the street, bearing his blushing
honours on his back. Somehow he had an idea that every one was looking
at him. Well, at all events he was an object of very great interest to
bevies of little guttersnipe urchins, who followed him shouting,
“Buttery Willie Collie, red-backed and holy.”
I don’t know at all why they should shout such doggerel at the gown
students, but they do. His back also became a target for innumerable
snowballs, so that on the whole he was not sorry when safe in the quad
at last.
The class-rooms were seated after the fashion of the gallery of a church
or theatre, the seats rising tier after tier from the floor near the
windows, where stood the professor’s table, towards the roof, so that to
gain their places the students had first to climb a back stair, then
descend the centre stair-like passage to their seats on either side. In
Sandie’s days, whatever it may be now, practical joking was in its
glory. Sometimes these jokes took what Sandie considered a mean and
ungentlemanly turn, as when, to his astonishment, he saw a fusillade of
snowballs coming over the gallery from the back-stairs and falling on
the professor’s table.
All the more unworthy of any student was such conduct, inasmuch as it
was the Professor of Greek who was thus assailed, and he was a very old
and nervous man.
Another day a door-mat was thrown over the gallery class-room, alighting
on the table and demolishing everything; and this by men who would have
been mortally offended had you told them they were not gentlemen.
Sandie soon settled down to the routine of the class-rooms, and also to
his own quiet studies at home. He soon found out the truth about the
lecture system, however, namely, that it is a mistake, and that an
earnest student can learn more at home from books in one hour than he
could from twenty lectures.
* * * * *
Although Sandie paid three shillings and sixpence of weekly rent for his
room, he had it all to himself. He could therefore study when he
pleased, without fear of interruption, and his landlady was really very
good and kind to him. Willie was his constant visitor, but knowing
Sandie’s studious habits, made it a point never to come and see him of
an evening unless specially invited. And if, when Willie invited Sandie
to his house to spend the evening, he replied that he could not well
spare the time, nothing more was said on the subject.
Sandie had entered on a new sphere of study that possessed great
attractions for him, namely, algebra and the higher branches of
mathematics.
He made a solemn resolve to pay his father back the ten pounds as soon
as possible, and what with this debt and one thing or another, he found
he would have enough to do to rub along.
So he determined now to take a pupil, that is, if he could find one.
Surely a first bursar would be successful in a little matter like this.
Well, Sandie was so after a fashion. He was engaged by a widow lady, who
lived on the outskirts of the town, to teach her fat-faced
pudding-headed “loon,” aged about twelve, for one hour every night for
the large sum of ten shillings a week.
A more provoking pupil it would have been difficult for any one to
conceive. He was his mother’s darling, a spoiled and ignorant child, who
at times would positively refuse to be taught or to open a book.
Sandie lost his temper with him one night, and pulled his ears.
“Oh, don’t do that,” said his mother pleadingly.
“I will, and more,” cried Sandie determinedly. “If he will not work, I
am but robbing you, and losing my own precious time besides.”
“Now, look here, Andrew: if there is any more of this, either now or any
other night, I’m going to give you a jolly good belting, and to-morrow I
shall bring a strap in my pocket for the purpose.” And so Sandie did,
and laid it ominously on the table in the boy’s sight.
Andrew became quite a reformed character after this, and Sandie used to
take him out for long rambles on Saturday afternoons, and to the church
on Sundays.
* * * * *
A rather curious fact must here be mentioned regarding Willie Munro, as
it not only gives an additional insight to the lad’s character, but
really has some bearing on future acts in our story.
Willie, then, had never forgotten that fiasco on the hill, when he
loaded his gun by putting in the charge of shot first. He was a very
sensitive boy, and sometimes since that day, in his dreams, he would
hear Maggie May’s shrill peals of laughter, and see her merry
mischievous face. Had Sandie alone been there, it would not have
mattered so much, but to have made a fool of himself before a girl--ah!
there was the rub. He felt at times that he almost hated Maggie May,
though surely it was no fault of hers.
However, he made a vow that he would rectify the mistake. He told his
father the whole story, and his father kindly acquiesced in his wishes.
Willie paid a visit to a keeper who lived a little way up Deeside. A
crack shot he was. The man was grooming a Lavereck setter when Willie
reached his humble dwelling.
“Fat can I dee for ye, laddie?” said Bob Brown, meaning, “What can I do
for you?”
“Oh,” said Willie, “I want you to teach me to shoot birds, so that I can
go to the hill and not make a fool of myself.”
Bob looked him all over. He even tested his eye-sight and the quickness
and steadiness of his hand.
“You’ll do,” he said. “How often can you come here?”
“Every afternoon, and I’m willing to pay fairly well.”
“Richt! in a month or sax weeks you ought to be as gweed (good) a shot
as mysel’. Hae ye a gun?”
“No.”
“Weel, we’ll gang and buy ane the day.”
And so they did--not a very heavy one, but a breech-loader by one of the
best makers.
They also bought a spring-trap to throw crystal balls into the air, to
represent birds. These balls were filled with feathers, so it was easy
to see when they were broken.
For the first few days Willie was awkward enough, and hardly broke a
ball; then all at once he seemed, to get into the knack of the thing,
and broke the balls fast enough, and without apparent aim or effort.
The lad was rejoiced beyond measure. I am really afraid he neglected his
studies somewhat for this new-fangled fad of his, only he was
determined to wipe out what he looked upon as a stain on his character.
He practised at home every morning, as well as going to Bob’s in the
afternoons.
Bob had a bit of private shooting, and now he began to take Willie out
with him, and an excellent hill-man the boy proved.
“Man,” said Bob more than once, “I’m perfectly prood o’ ye. And ye’re a’
ma ain makin’ too.”
Willie now added the revolver to his armoury. Very awkward, indeed, he
was at first with this weapon, but the pistol was pronounced a good one,
and he soon became very precise in his shooting indeed.
Now Willie was sly.
Willie never told Sandie, his friend, what he was doing or studying. Not
he. If you had asked him why he did not, he might have replied--
“Because I know a trick worth two of that. I want my revenge. I want to
astonish Sandie, and Maggie May as well.”
There is a good old saying which, I must confess, has been of much
service to me during life. It is this: “You never know what you can do
till you try.”
I have often felt so ill, that I thought to get out of bed and begin
literary work would be a sheer impossibility. Then that bold saying has
come to my mind, and I have got up, and shaved myself--a terrible ordeal
when one is low and sick--and had my cold bath--another terrible
ordeal, even for a Scotsman, when out of form. Then I have had breakfast
and begun work, and wonderful to relate, the more I wrote the better I
grew. What think you of that, reader mine?
Well, in Willie’s case there was another proof of the truth of the grand
old aphorism. Willie persevered and persevered, and in six weeks’ time,
long before Christmas, he had been pronounced by Bob Brown a crack shot,
one who could single out his bird from a covey, and bring one down with
each barrel.
“I dinna think,” said Bob frankly and honestly, “I can teach you muckle
mair.”
But Willie went every night to Bob Brown’s all the same.
They had two spring-traps now, and two balls were dislodged into the air
at one time, and Bob rubbed his hands with delight, and laughed to see
his pupil smash each ball, making the feathers fly right and left.
* * * * *
Sandie continued hard at his studies, especially mathematics, night
after night, and made considerable progress.
What a happy day that was, though, when his mother and sister Elsie came
to visit him.
Not only he, but Willie himself absented themselves from classes that
day, simply dropping a line to the various professors candidly owning up
to the cause of their playing truant.
So Sandie escorted his dear mother, and Willie chaperoned Elsie, all
over the Granite City. It was the first time Elsie had been to Aberdeen,
and she was naturally much struck by the marble whiteness of the stately
buildings.
The ladies were even taken into the quad to gaze upon the University at
which Sandie had achieved such signal success.
Then, when tired of wandering through the streets and seeing the lions
of the place, Willie--wilful Willie, as Sandie called him--insisted upon
their all dining together in the M‘Gregor Hotel.
“It is only four o’clock,” he said, “and you go away at six. Well, I
would have asked you to my house, but we will be ever so much more free
and easy here.”
“I shall pay,” said Sandie.
“Indeed, indeed you won’t.”
“Oh, but I must.”
“Well, if you do, I shan’t come out with you to Kilbuie to spend the
Christmas week. So there!”
That settled it.
Not only did Willie pay, but he ordered the dinner, and it was one just
suited to the requirements of a bright clear winter’s day. No French
names either. 1. Delicious Scotch barley-broth. 2. Fresh salmon from the
Dee, caught the day before, not Norwegian salmon that had lain dead in
ice for three weeks, till all taste and flavour had fled to the moon or
elsewhere. 3. A juicy joint of roast-beef with snow-white mashed
potatoes and cauliflower. 4. Pudding and custard. 5. Cheese, oat-cakes,
fresh butter, and salad. For wine, although the ladies had their option,
they chose good table-ale, and the boys joined them. When about
half-past five tea was brought, I think both the mother and Elsie were
very happy; at any rate, they both confessed that they had never in
their lives spent a more pleasant or happy day.
“The time is getting short now,” said Mrs. M‘Crae, “and I want to make
sure of one thing.”
“And that is?” asked Willie.
“Sure o’ your promise to come out at Christmas when Sandie comes.”
“I promise, mother,” said Willie.
“You both look rather pale. I’m sure you’ve both been studying very
hard.”
Willie smiled inwardly, but made no reply.
They sauntered down to the station in good time, and just as they were
going away, and Elsie extended her hand to Willie, he gallantly pressed
it to his lips.
As he raised his cap, shy eyes met his, and a smiling but blushing face.
The whistle shrieked.
The train was gone.