But to this solution of the problem Mr.
Traill himself was not reconciled.
Sensing some shifting of the winds in the man's soul, Bobby
trotted over to lick his hand. Then he sat up on the hearth and
lolled his tongue, reminding the good landlord that he had one
cheerful friend to bear him company on the blaw-weary day. It was
thus they sat, companionably, when a Burgh policeman who was well
known to Mr. Traill came in to dry himself by the fire. Gloomy
thoughts were dispelled at once by the instinct of hospitality.
"You're fair wet, man. Pull a chair to the hearth. And you have a
bit smut on your nose, Davie."
"It's frae the railway engine. Edinburgh was a reekie toon eneugh
afore the engines cam' in an' belched smuts in ilka body's
faces." The policeman was disgusted and discouraged by three days
of wet clothing, and he would have to go out into the rain again
before he got dry. Nothing occurred to him to talk about but
grievances.
"Did ye ken the Laird Provost, Maister Chambers, is intendin' to
knock a lang hole aboon the tap o' the Coogate wynds? It wull
mak' a braid street ye can leuk doon frae yer doorway here. The
gude auld days gangin' doon in a muckle dust!"
"Ay, the sun will peep into foul places it hasn't seen sin' Queen
Mary's day. And, Davie, it would be more according to the gude
auld customs you're so fond of to call Mr. William Chambers
'Glenormiston' for his bit country place.
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