I'll mak' a gude fight for Bobby in the
Burgh court."
"I'll fight with you, man." The spirit of the McGregor clan,
though much diluted and subdued by town living, brought Sandy
down from a three-legged stool. He called another clerk to take
his place, and made off to find the Lord Provost, powerful friend
of hameless dogs. Mr. Traill hastened down to the Royal Exchange,
below St. Giles and on the northern side of High Street.
Less than a century old, this municipal building was modern among
ancient rookeries. To High Street it presented a classic front of
four stories, recessed by flanking wings, around three sides of a
quadrangular courtyard. Near the entrance there was a row of
barber shops and coffee-rooms. Any one having business with the
city offices went through a corridor between these places of
small trade to the stairway court behind them. On the floor
above, one had to inquire of some uniformed attendant in which of
the oaken, ante-roomed halls the Burgh court was sitting. And by
the time one got there all the pride of civic history of the
ancient royal Burgh, as set forth in portrait and statue and a
museum of antiquities, was apt to take the lime out of the
backbone of a man less courageous than Mr. Traill. What a car of
juggernaut to roll over one, small, masterless terrier!
But presently the landlord found himself on his feet, and not so
ill at ease. A Scottish court, high or low, civil or criminal,
had a flavor all its own.
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