|On the night of the last Trades House dinner I walked home with Erchie
when his work was done. It was the 13th of February. There are little
oil-and-colour shops in New City Road, where at that season the windows
become literary and artistic, and display mock valentines. One of these
windows caught my old friend’s eye, and he stopped to look in.
“My!” he said, “time flies! It was only yesterday we had the last o’ oor
Ne’erday currant-bun, and here’s the valenteens! That minds me I maun
buy-----” He stopped and looked at me, a little embarrassed.