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Page 13
"Eh, laddie?" he questioned. Up the little dog rose in the
begging attitude. Then, with a sharp bark, he dashed back to his
master.
Something was very wrong, indeed. Auld Jock had sunk down in his
seat. His arms hung helplessly over the end and back of the
settle, and his legs were sprawled limply before him. The bonnet
that he always wore, outdoors and in, had fallen from his scant,
gray locks, and his head had dropped forward on his chest. His
breathing was labored, and he muttered in his sleep.
In a moment Mr. Traill was inside his own greatcoat, storm boots
and bonnet. At the door he turned back. The shop was unguarded.
Although Greyfriars Place lay on the hilltop, with the sanctuary
of the kirkyard behind it, and the University at no great
distance in front, it was but a step up from the thief-infested
gorge of the Cowgate. The landlord locked his moneydrawer, pushed
his easy-chair against it, and roused Auld Jock so far as to move
him over from the settle. The chief responsibility he laid on the
anxious little dog, that watched his every movement.
"Lie down, Bobby, and mind Auld Jock. And you're no' a gude dog
if you canna bark to waken the dead in the kirkyard, if ony
strange body comes about."
"Whaur are ye gangin'?" cried Auld Jock. He was wide awake, with
burning, suspicious eyes fixed on his host.
"Sit you down, man, with your back to my siller. I'm going for a
doctor." The noise of the storm, as he opened the door, prevented
his hearing the frightened protest:
"Dinna ging!"
The rain had turned to sleet, and Mr. Traill had trouble in
keeping his feet. He looked first into the famous Book Hunter's
Stall next door, on the chance of finding a medical student. The
place was open, but it had no customers. He went on to the
bridge, but there the sheriff's court, the Martyr's church, the
society halls and all the smart shops were closed, their dark
fronts lighted fitfully by flaring gas-lamps. The bitter night
had driven all Edinburgh to private cover.
From the rear came a clear whistle. Some Heriot laddie who,
being not entirely a "puir orphan," but only "faderless" and,
therefore, living outside the school with his mother, had been
kept after nightfall because of ill-prepared lessons or
misbehavior. Mr. Traill turned, passed his own door, and went on
southward into Forest Road, that skirted the long arm of the
kirkyard.
From the Burghmuir, all the way to the Grassmarket and the
Cowgate, was downhill. So, with arms winged, and stout legs
spread wide and braced, Geordie Ross was sliding gaily homeward,
his knitted tippet a gallant pennant behind. Here was a Mercury
for an urgent errand.
"Laddie, do you know whaur's a doctor who can be had for a
shulling or two for a poor auld country body in my shop?"
"Is he so awfu' ill?" Geordie asked with the morbid curiosity of
lusty boyhood.
"He's a' that. He's aff his heid. Run, laddie, and dinna be
standing there wagging your fule tongue for naething."
Geordie was off with speed across the bridge to High Street. Mr.
Traill struggled back to his shop, against wind and treacherous
ice, thinking what kind of a bed might be contrived for the sick
man for the night. In the morning the daft auld body could be
hurried, willy-nilly, to a bed in the infirmary. As for wee Bobby
he wouldn't mind if--
And there he ran into his own wide-flung door. A gale blew
through the hastily deserted place. Ashes were scattered about
the hearth, and the cruisey lamp flared in the gusts. Auld Jock
and Bobby were gone.
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