e Cross, smoking a cigarette,
he seemed to be conscious that the very walls of the houses watched him
with unusual eyes, as if even they felt that yon was John Gourlay whom
they had known as a boy, proud wearer now of the academic wreath, the
conquering hero returned to his home. So Gourlay figured them. He, the
disconsidered, had shed a lustre on the ancient walls. They were
tributaries to his new importance--somehow their attitude was different
from what it had ever been before. It was only his self-conscious
bigness, of course, that made even inanimate things seem the feeders of
his greatness. As Gourlay, always alive to obscure emotions which he
could never express in words, mused for a moment over the strange new
feeling that had come to him, a gowsterous voice hailed him from the
Black Bull door. He turned, and Peter Wylie, hearty and keen like his
father, stood him a drink in honour of his victory, which was already
buzzed about the town.

Drucken Wabster's wife had seen to that. "Ou," she cried, "his mother's
daft about it, the silly auld thing; she can speak o' noathing else.
Though Gourlay gies her very little to come and go on, she slipped him a
whole sovereign this morning, to keep his pouch. Think o' that, kimmers;
heard ye ever sic extravagance! I saw her doin'd wi' my own eyes. It's
aince wud and aye waur[6] wi' her, I'm thinking. But the wastefu'
wife's the waefu' widow, she should keep in mind. She's far owre
browdened upon yon boy. I'm sure I howp good may come o't, but----" and
with an ominous shake of the head she ended the Websterian harangue.

When Peter Wylie left him Gourlay lit a cigarette and stood at the
Cross, waiting for the praises yet to be. The Deacon toddled forward on
his thin shanks.

"Man Dyohn, you're won hame, I thee. Ay, man! And how are ye?"

Gourlay surveyed him with insolent, indolent eyes. "Oh, I'm all
rai-ight, Deacon," he swaggered; "how are ye-ow?" and he sent a puff of
tobacco smoke down through his nostrils.

"I declare!" said the Deacon. "I never thaw onybody thmoke like that
before! That'll be one of the thingth ye learn at College, no doubt."

"Ya-as," yawned Gourlay; "it gives you the full flavour of the we-eed."

The Deacon glimmered over him with his eyes. "The weed," said he. "Jutht
tho! Imphm. The weed."

Then worthy Mister Allardyce tried another opening. "But, dear me!" he
cried, "I'm forgetting entirely. I must congratulate ye. Ye've been
doing wonderth