"Hey, lassie. I know the dog. What fashes you?"
There stood a tall student, a wet towel about his head, and,
behind him, the rafters of the dormer-lighted closet were as
thickly hung with bunches of dried herbs from the Botanical
Garden as any auld witch wife's kitchen.
"Oh, are ye kennin' 'im? Isna he bonny an' sonsie? Gie me the
shullin' an' twapenny ha' penny we're needin', so the police
wullna put 'im awa'."
"Losh! It's a license you're wanting? I wish I had as many
shullings as I've had gude times with Bobby, and naething to pay
for his braw company."
For this was Geordie Ross, going through the Medical College with
the help of Heriot's fund that, large as it was, was never quite
enough for all the poor and ambitious youths of Edinburgh. And
so, although provided for in all necessary ways, his pockets were
nearly as empty as of old. He could spare a sixpence if he made
his dinner on a potato and a smoked herring. That he was very
willing to do, once he had heard the tale, and he went with Ailie
to the lodgings of other students, and demanded their siller with
no explanation at all.
"Give the lassie what you can spare, man, or I'll have to give
you a licking," was his gay and convincing argument, from door to
door, until the needed amount was made up. Ailie fled recklessly
down the stairs, and cried triumphantly to the upward-looking,
silent crowd that had grown and grown around Tammy, like some
host of children crusaders.
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