For Gowans and Gloag were fair in a way, they’d sacked a dozen from Machines that week and were trying to cheese-pare all over the shops, they’d been on to Dallas and gotten out his rag. The apprentice chaps in the dinner hour sat out in the yard and swore at them, and smoked, and watched through the haze from the Docks the swinging cranes that loaded the ships, or the bridges open and a laggard trawler creep in from an antrin night on the sea, lost in the fogs of the Dogger Bank. And Alick said by Christ if he had the guts he’d run off from it all and take to the sea, a fine bit life if it wasn’t that on a ship a common chap was near starved to death. And Norman said that he’d like a farm: and he’d near as much chance of getting that as of wee King Geordie making him his vallay.

Well, you couldn’t but wonder what Tavendale would do when he got back to Furnaces on the Monday morning, stuck up as ever, and acting the toff he looked when he came down and took up his shovel, you keeked sideways and saw he’d no sign of a bandage, froze up and don’t-touch-me-I’m-awful-grand. Syne the work started, all at it hell for leather till the hooter went, no larking or jookery-packery, Alick and Norman not looking at the toff, they were maybe a bit feared he’d reported them.

And then as you all climbed up to the yard the toff turned round to Alick Hello! and Alick gave a kind of a start Hello! and they laughed, and Norman went dandering over Hello! as well, and a fag to the toff Tavendale. You’d never seen him smoking before, but he took it: I’m going down to the Docks to eat my dinner. Coming, you chaps?

Now Alick and Norman never left the yard, they would bide there all the dinner hour and raise hell with pitching stones at old tins, telling bit tales of their Saturday nights, they were both of them awful Bulgars with the queans, Norman had gotten a tart into trouble, and laughed when her Ma came after him chasing him with a bit of a broken bottle from the Gallowgate half through Paldy Parish; and they’d tease Geordie Bruce, the dirty wee devil, and get him to do the dirtiest capers, rouse hell’s delight and have a fair time. But now they just looked a bit tint and surprised, and Alick said Och, ay, as though he couldn’t help it, and Norman Cruickshank gave a bit nod, and away the three of them went together.

That was the beginning of a gey queer time, it wasn’t only the apprentices noticed it, the toff didn’t go out of his way to be friends but if he came on you, joking-like, he’d sit down and listen and smoke a fag-end and give a bit nod, and he wasn’t so bad, not looking at you now so that a childe felt his face was all wrong and his sark gey clorted up at the neck and he hadn’t ta’en the trouble to wash that morning. Some said that his bashing had done him good, he’d gotten scared of the working chaps; but Alick Watson said that that was damned stite, Ewan Tavendale could tackle any Bulgar here. And had he gone clyping to the management?