The stranger
might have been a statesman or a tramp.
"It is a pleasure to see you, Doctor," and the young man grasped a
mittened hand and looked into his companion's face. There was something
both kindly and mirthful in his grey eyes.
The old man arranged his seat comfortably, buttoned another button at
the neck of the coat, and then scrutinised the driver. "It's four
years--four years in October since I last cast eyes on you, Lewie, my
boy," he said. "I heard you were coming, so I refused a lift from
Haystounslacks and the minister. Haystounslacks was driving from
Gledsmuir, and unless the Lord protects him he will be in Avelin water
ere he gets home. Whisky and a Glenavelin road never agree, Lewie, as I
who have mended the fool's head a dozen times should know. But I
thought you would never come, and was prepared to ride in the next
baker's van." The Doctor spoke with the pure English and high northern
voice of an old school of professional men, whose tongue, save in
telling a story, knew not the vernacular, and yet in its pitch and
accent inevitably betrayed their birthplace. Precise in speech and
dress, uncommonly skilful, a mild humorist, and old in the world's
wisdom, he had gone down the evening way of life with the heart of a
boy.
"I was delayed--I could not help it, though I was all afternoon at the
job," said the young man.
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