me with imbecile questions, and I had to sit on him. At the end Mr Norie hammered with his pipe on the table. 

 “That’ll sort ye, Andra. Ye’re entertain’ an angel unawares. What do ye say to that, my man?” 

 Mr Amos shook his head. “I’ll no deny there’s something in it, but I’m not convinced that the Germans have got enough of a wheepin’.” Macnab agreed with him; the others were with me. Norie was for getting me to write an article for his paper, and the consumptive wanted me to address a meeting. 

 “Wull ye say a’ that over again the morn’s night down at our hall in Newmilns Street? We’ve got a lodge meeting o’ the I.W.B., and I’ll make them pit ye in the programme.” He kept his luminous eyes, like a sick dog’s, fixed on me, and I saw that I had made one ally. I told him I had come to Glasgow to learn and not to teach, but I would miss no chance of testifying to my faith. 

 “Now, boys, I’m for my bed,” said Amos, shaking the dottle from his pipe. “Mr Tombs, I’ll conduct ye the morn over the Brigend works, but I’ve had enough clavers for one evening. I’m a man that wants his eight hours’ sleep.” 

 The old fellow saw them to the door, and came back to me with the ghost of a grin in his face. 

 “A queer crowd, Mr Brand! Macnab didna like what ye said. He had a laddie killed in Gallypoly, and he’s no lookin’ for peace this side the grave. He’s my best friend in Glasgow. He’s an elder in the Gaelic kirk in the Cowcaddens, and I’m what ye call a free-thinker, but we’re wonderful agreed on the fundamentals. Ye spoke your bit verra well, I must admit. Gresson will hear tell of ye as a promising recruit.” 

 “It’s a rotten job,” I said. 

 “Ay, it’s a rotten job. I often feel like vomiting over it mysel’. But it’s no for us to complain. There’s waur jobs oot in France for better men.... A word in your ear, Mr Brand. Could ye not look a bit more sheepish? Ye stare folk ower straight in the een, like a Hieland sergeant-major up at Maryhill Barracks.” And he winked slowly and grotesquely with his left eye. 

 He marched to a cupboard and produced a black bottle and glass. “I’m blue-ribbon myself, but ye’ll be the better of something to tak the taste out of your mouth. There’s Loch Katrine water at the pipe there.... As I was saying, there’s not much ill in that lot. Tombs is a black offence, but a dominie’s a dominie all the world over. 

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