So our City Fathers lay the afternoon there, soaking up truly, but Ake drinking cannily—and I guess if a pickle of those Communist childes had been there they’d have got enough propaganda to start a Soviet the morn’s morning. It was seven o’clock before Mr Puller could get the soaked whoresons back in their coaches. Then he routed out Mr Piddle from a sleep in the grass and told him he expected he’d say nothing of this, and Mr Piddle took that down in his note-book as well, but said he-he he knew discretion, he was a man of the world as well. And old Puller muttered something about Christ help the world and then dosed Mr Piddle with a dram or so to put him into a right good tune and bunged him in aside Bailie Brown; and off they all drove back to Duncairn, the coach-drivers were told to take it slow and see they didn’t get back till dark.

Well, they halted up at the top Mile rank and pushed the Councillors into taxis; but Ake and Mr Piddle made for a tram; and were soon at their lodgings in Windmill Place; and syne the bittie of trouble began.

Ake took the creature along to his room, and took off his boots and gave him a bit shake, and went off to his own bed, thinking no more on’t. But it seemed that the outing to the High Scaur works had fair let loose the ill passions of Piddle, he made up his mind to go up the stairs and pay his respects to little Miss Johns.

So, forgetting he’d taken off most things but his breeks, he padded up the stairs and knocked at the door, and went in, he-he! Miss Johns was in bed, the lass sat up and asked what he wanted and he closed the door and giggled at her, soft, it doesn’t seem she was frightened, much. But she nipped out of bed as Piddle came nearer, and called out Εwan!; and a minute later there was a hell of a crash.

Ake was taking off his boots when he heard that crash, and he tore from his room just as Mistress Colquohoun tore out of hers, she’d less of a wardrobe on than he had and fair looked a canty bit dame for a man to handle, he couldn’t but think. Ake cried What’s up, up there, would you say? and she laughed in her cool-like, sulky way Sounds more as though the ceiling was down; and up the two of them ran together and there Ake set eyes on as bonny a picture as he’d seen for long, Mr Piddle lying over the bed like a pock, the lassie Ellen Johns in a scrimp of a nightie, all flushed and bonny, red spot on each cheek, and young Ewan Tavendale looking at Piddle—the two young creatures with their earnest bit faces and their blue-black hair a sheen in the light looking down at Piddle like a couple of bairns at a puzzling and nasty thing on a road.