So he’d settled down there, as Mrs Colquohoun knew, till the place was fairly all to hell, with unemployment and all the lave; and after her good man died and so on Ake fair got sick of sitting about in his shed and looking for custom to come, scribbling a wee bit of poetry the while, and glowering up at the Trusta heuchs and wishing to Christ that something would happen.—And Chris said Oh yes, I mind your poetry. You still write it, do you? and Ake said Ay. Bits. It would hardly interest you. Well, as I was saying—and went on to say that one day he was having a bit look through the paper and what did he see there but that young Jimmy Speight, him that he’d gone to school with long syne, had been made the Lord Provost of Duncairn toun. At first Ake could hardly believe his own eyes, he’d thought that talent must be fairly damn scarce to make Wabbling Jimmy a Lord Provost, like. He’d heard about him afore that, of course, how he’d been ta’en into his uncle’s business and heired when the old uncle wore away a fine sawmill and a schlorich of silver. But he’d never much bothered about the creature till he read this notice of him being Provost.

Well, damn’t, that fairly moved Ake a bit, if Wabbling Jimmy was all that well off he’d surely scrounge up a job for a body. So Ake locked up his place and put on his best suit and got on the morning train for Duncairn, and took a tram to the Provost’s house, out in Craigneuks, a gey brave-looking place with fal-lal ornaments forward and back and a couple of towers stuck on for luck like warts on the nose of Oliver Cromwell. A servant lass came tripping and held the door open, What name shall I say to the Provost, please? And Ake said My name’s Ake Ogilvie, tell him, and ask if he minds the time in Lourenkirk when I gey near drowned him in a stone horse-trough. Well, the lass went red and gave a bit giggle, as a young quean will, and went off with the message, and into the room in a minute came Jimmy, gey grand, but dreeping at the nose as ever. And damn’t, he’d come in fair cocky-like but syne a funny thing happened to him, it just showed you what happened when you were a bairn—if you got a rattle in the lantern then you might build a battleship in later life and explore the North Pole and sleep with a Duchess, but you’d never forget the lad that had cloured you, you’d meet him and feel a bit sick in the wame though it was a good half-century later.

Well, something like that came on Wabbling Jimmy, he dropped his politeness and his hee-haw airs, and Ake took his hand and cried out loud: Ay, Jimmy lad, you’re fair landed here, with all these queans to see to your needs, at door and table and no doubt in your bed. And the Lord Provost went as yellow’s a neep: Wheesht, Ake, wheesht, the wife’s on the prowl. And Ake said he didn’t know that he’d married—d’you mind what happened to Kate Duthie long syne? …