"I'm getting an
auld man and a verra wise ane, and the graund owercome for the world is
just 'Pay no attention.' Ye'll has heard how the word cam' to be. It
was Jock Linklater o' the Caulds wha was glen notice to quit by the
laird, and a' the countryside was vexed to pairt wi' Jock, for he was a
popular character. But about a year after a friend meets him at
Gledsmuir merkit as crouse as ever. 'Lodsake, Jock, man, I thocht ye
were awa',' says he. 'No,' says Jock, 'no. I'm here as ye see.' 'But
how did ye manage it?' he asked. 'Fine,' says Jock. 'They sent me a
letter tellin' me I must gang; but I just payed no attention. Syne they
sent me a blue letter frae the lawyer's, but I payed no attention. Syne
the factor cam' to see me.' 'Ay, and what did ye do then, Jock?' says
he. 'Oh, I payed no attention. Syne the laird cam' himsel.' 'Ay, that
would fricht ye,' he says. 'No, no a grain,' said Jock, verra calm. 'I
just payed no attention, and here I am.'"
Lewis laughed, but the rest of the audience suffered no change of
feature. The gloaming bad darkened, and the little small-paned window
was a fretted sheet of dark and lucent blue. Grateful odours of food
and drink and tobacco hung in the air, though tar and homespun and the
far-carried fragrance of peat fought stoutly for the mastery.
One man fell to telling of a fox-hunt, when he lay on the hill for the
night and shot five of the destroyers of his flock before the morning,
it was the sign--and the hour--for stories of many kinds--tales of
weather and adventure, humorous lowland escapades and dismal mountain
realities.
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