Scottish sketches Part 17

"Can I come in, Uncle John?"

"Come in, Davie."

"Uncle, I was wrong last night, and I cannot be happy with any shadow between us two."

Scotchmen are not demonstrative, and John only winked his eyes and straightened out his mouth; but the grip of the old and young hand said what no words could have said half so eloquently. Then the old man remarked in a business-like way,

"I hae been thinking, Davie, I would go and look o'er Hastie's affairs, and if I like the look o' them I'll buy the whole concern out for you. Partners are kittle cattle. Ye will hae to bear their shortcomings as well as your ain. Tak my advice, Davie; rule your youth well, and your age will rule itsel'."

"Uncle, you forget that Robert Leslie is in treaty with Hastie. It would be the height of dishonor to interfere with his bargain. You have always told me never to put my finger in another man's bargain.

Let us say no more on the subject. I have another plan now. If it succeeds, well and good; if not, there are chances behind this one."

John fervently hoped there would be no more to say on this subject, and when day after day went by without any reference to Hastie or Robert Leslie, John Callendar felt much relieved. David also had limited himself to one gla.s.s of toddy at night, and this unspoken confession and reformation was a great consolation to the old man. He said to himself that the evil he dreaded had gone by his door, and he was rather complacent over the bold stand he had taken.

That day, as he was slowly walking through the Exchange, pondering a proposal for Virginia goods, Deacon Strang accosted him. "Callendar, a good day to ye; I congratulate ye on the new firm o' Callendar & Leslie. They are brave lads, and like enough--if a' goes weel--to do weel."

John did not allow an eyelash to betray his surprise and chagrin. "Ah, Strang!" he answered, "the Callendars are a big clan, and we are a'

kin; sae, if you tak to congratulating me on every Callendar whose name ye see aboon a doorstep, you'll hae mair business on hand than you'll ken how to manage. A good day to you!" But Deacon Callendar went up Great George street that day with a heavy, angry heart. His nephew opened the door for him. "Uncle John, I have been looking all over for you. I have something to tell you."

"Fiddler's news, Davie. I hae heard it already. Sae you hae struck hands wi' Robert Leslie after a', eh?"

"He had my promise, uncle, before I spoke to you. I could not break it."

"H'm! Where did you get the 2,000?"

"I borrowed it."

"Then I hope 'the party' looked weel into the business."

"They did not. It was loaned to me on my simple representation."

"'Simple representation!' Vera simple! It was some woman, dootless."

"It was my mother's aunt, Lady Brith."

"Ou, ay! I kent it. Weel, when a bargain is made, wish it good luck; sae, Jenny, put a partridge before the fire, and bring up a bottle O'

Madeira."

It was not however a lively meal. John was too proud and hurt to ask for information, and David too much chilled by his reserve to volunteer it. The wine, being an unusual beverage to John, made him sleepy; and when David said he had to meet Robert Leslie at nine o'clock, John made no objection and no remark. But when Jenny came in to cover up the fire for the night, she found him sitting before it, rubbing his hands in a very unhappy manner.

"Cousin," he said fretfully, "there is a new firm in Glasgo' to-day."

"I hae heard tell o' it. G.o.d send it prosperity."

"It isna likely, Jenny; auld Lady Brith's money to start it! The G.o.dless auld woman! If Davie taks her advice, he's a gane lad."

"Then, deacon, it's your ain fault. Whatna for did ye not gie him the 2,000?"

"Just hear the woman! It taks women and lads to talk o' 2,000 as if it were picked up on the planestanes."

"If ye had loaned it, deacon, ye would hae had the right to spier into things, and gie the lad advice. He maun tak his advice where he taks his money. Ye flung that chance o' guiding Davie to the four winds.

And let me tell ye, Cousin Callendar, ye hae far too tight a grip on this warld's goods. The money is only loaned to you to put out at interest for the Master. It ought to be building kirks and schoolhouses, and sending Bibles to the far ends o' the earth. When you are asked what ye did wi' it, how will you like to answer, 'I hid it safely awa, Lord, in the Clyde Trust and in Andrew Fleming's bank!'"

"That will do, woman. Now you hae made me dissatisfied wi' my guiding o' Davie, and meeserable anent my bank account, ye may gang to your bed; you'll doobtless sleep weel on the thought."

CHAPTER III.

However, sometimes things are not so ill as they look. The new firm obtained favor, and even old, cautious men began to do a little business with it. For Robert introduced some new machinery, and the work it did was allowed, after considerable suspicion, to be "vera satisfactory." A sudden emergency had also discovered to David that he possessed singularly original ideas in designing patterns; and he set himself with enthusiasm to that part of the business. Two years afterwards came the Great Fair of 1851, and Callendar & Leslie took a first prize for their rugs, both design and workmans.h.i.+p being honorably mentioned.

Their success seemed now a.s.sured. Orders came in so fast that the mill worked day and night to fill them; and David was so gay and happy that John could hardly help rejoicing with him. Indeed, he was very proud of his nephew, and even inclined to give Robert a little cautious kindness. The winter of 1851 was a very prosperous one, but the spring brought an unlooked-for change.

One evening David came home to dinner in a mood which Jenny characterized as "_thrawart_." He barely answered her greeting, and shut his room-door with a bang. He did not want any dinner, and he wanted to be let alone. John looked troubled at this behavior. Jenny said, "It is some la.s.s in the matter; naething else could mak a sensible lad like Davie act sae child-like and silly." And Jennie was right. Towards nine o'clock David came to the parlor and sat down beside his uncle. He said he had been "greatly annoyed."

"Annoyances are as certain as the multiplication table," John remarked quietly, "and ye ought to expect them--all the mair after a long run o' prosperity."

"But no man likes to be refused by the girl he loves."

"Eh? Refused, say ye? Wha has refused you?"

"Isabel Strang. I have loved her, as you and Jenny know, since we went to school together, and I was sure that she loved me. Two days ago I had some business with Deacon Strang, and when it was finished I spoke to him anent Isabel. He made me no answer then, one way or the other, but told me he would have a talk with Isabel, and I might call on him this afternoon. When I did so he said he felt obligated to refuse my offer."

"Weel?"

"That is all."

"Nonsense! Hae you seen Isabel hersel'?"

"She went to Edinburgh last night."

"And if you were your uncle, lad, you would hae been in Edinburgh too by this time. Your uncle would not stay refused twenty-four hours, if he thought the la.s.s loved him. Tut, tut, you ought to hae left at once; that would hae been mair like a Callendar than ganging to your ain room to sit out a scorning. There is a train at ten o'clock to-night; you hae time to catch it if ye dinna lose a minute, and if you come back wi' Mrs. David Callendar, I'll gie her a warm welcome for your sake."

The old man's face was aglow, and in his excitement he had risen to his feet with the very air of one whom no circ.u.mstances could depress or embarra.s.s. David caught his mood and his suggestion, and in five minutes he was on his way to the railway depot. The thing was done so quickly that reflection had formed no part of it. But when Jenny heard the front-door clash impatiently after David, she surmised some imprudence, and hastened to see what was the matter. John told her the "affront" David had received, and looked eagerly into the strong, kindly face for an a.s.surance that he had acted with becoming prompt.i.tude and sympathy. Jenny shook her head gravely, and regarded the deacon with a look of pitying disapproval. "To think," she said, "of twa men trying to sort a love affair, when there was a woman within call to seek counsel o'."

"But we couldna hae done better, Jenny."

"Ye couldna hae done wa.r.s.e, deacon. Once the lad asked ye for money, and ye wouldna trust him wi' it; and now ye are in sic a hurry to send him after a wife that he maun neither eat nor sleep. Ye ken which is the maist dangerous. And you, wi' a' your years, to play into auld Strang's hand sae glibly! Deacon, ye hae made a nice mess o' it. Dinna ye see that Strang knew you twa fiery Hielandmen would never tak 'No,' and he sent Isabel awa on purpose for our Davie to run after her.

He kens weel they will be sure to marry, but he'll say now that his daughter disobeyed him; sae he'll get off giving her a bawbee o' her fortune, and he'll save a' the plenis.h.i.+ng and the wedding expenses.

Deacon, I'm ashamed o' you. Sending a love-sick lad on sic a fool's errand. And mair, I'm not going to hae Isabel Strang, or Isabel Callendar here. A young woman wi' bridish ways dawdling about the house, I canna, and I willna stand. You'll hae to choose atween Deacon Strang's daughter and your auld cousin, Jenny Callendar."

John had no answer ready, and indeed Jenny gave him no time to make one: she went off with a sob in her voice, and left the impulsive old matchmaker very unhappy indeed. For he had an unmitigated sense of having acted most imprudently, and moreover, a shrewd suspicion that Jenny's a.n.a.lysis of Deacon Strang's tactics was a correct one. For the first time in many a year, a great tide of hot, pa.s.sionate anger swept away every other feeling. He longed to meet Strang face to face, and with an hereditary and quite involuntary instinct he put his hand to the place where his forefathers had always carried their dirks. The action terrified and partly calmed him. "My G.o.d!" he exclaimed, "forgive thy servant. I hae been guilty in my heart o' murder."

He was very penitent, but still, as he mused the fire burned; and he gave vent to his feelings in odd, disjointed sentences thrown up from the very bottom of his heart, as lava is thrown up by the irrepressible eruption: "Wha shall deliver a man from his ancestors?

Black Evan Callendar was never much nearer murder than I hae been this night, only for the grace of G.o.d, which put the temptation and the opportunity sae far apart. I'll hae Strang under my thumb yet. G.o.d forgie me! what hae I got to do wi' sorting my ain wrongs? What for couldna Davie like some other la.s.s? It's as easy to graft on a good stock as an ill one. I doobt I hae done wrong. I am in a sair swither.

The righteous dinna always see the right way. I maun e'en to my Psalms again. It is a wonderfu' comfort that King David was just a weak, sinfu' mortal like mysel'." So he went again to those pathetic, self-accusing laments of the royal singer, and found in them, as he always had done, words for all the great depths of his sin and fear, his hopes and his faith.