he Gorbals
Die-Hards."

"You're right, Dougal," said Dickson. "There's just the six of you. If
there were a dozen, I think this country would be needing some new kind
of a government."

CHAPTER VIII

HOW A MIDDLE-AGED CRUSADER ACCEPTED A CHALLENGE

The first cocks had just begun to crow and clocks had not yet struck
five when Dickson presented himself at Mrs. Morran's back door. That
active woman had already been half an hour out of bed, and was drinking
her morning cup of tea in the kitchen. She received him with
cordiality, nay, with relief.

"Eh, sir, but I'm glad to see ye back. Guid kens what's gaun on at the
Hoose thae days. Mr. Heritage left here yestreen, creepin' round by
dyke-sides and berry-busses like a wheasel. It's a mercy to get a
responsible man in the place. I aye had a notion ye wad come back,
for, thinks I, nevoy Dickson is no the yin to desert folk in
trouble.... Whaur's my wee kist?.... Lost, ye say. That's a peety, for
it's been my cheesebox thae thirty year."

Dickson ascended to the loft, having announced his need of at least
three hours' sleep. As he rolled into bed his mind was curiously at
ease. He felt equipped for any call that might be made on him. That
Mrs. Morran should welcome him back as a resource in need gave him a
new assurance of manhood.

He woke between nine and ten to the sound of rain lashing against the
garret window. As he picked his way out of the mazes of sleep and
recovered the skein of his immediate past, he found to his disgust that
he had lost his composure. All the flock of fears, that had left him
when on the top of the Glasgow tram-car he had made the great decision,
had flown back again and settled like black crows on his spirit. He was
running a horrible risk and all for a whim. What business had he to be
mixing himself up in things he did not understand? It might be a huge
mistake, and then he would be a laughing stock; for a moment he
repented his telegram to Mr. Caw. Then he recanted that suspicion;
there could be no mistake, except the fatal one that he had taken on a
job too big for him. He sat on the edge of the bed and shivered with
his eyes on the grey drift of rain. He would have felt more
stout-hearted had the sun been shining.

He shuffled to the window and looked out. There in the village street
was Dobson, and Dobson saw him. That was a bad blunder, for his reason
told him that he should have kept his presence in Dalq