Page:Martha Spreull by Zachary Fleming.pdf/84

72 happy and serious change that had come ower the laddie’s min’; the progress o’ his moral edication wis an unco comfort to me seein’ hoo raw the material wis when he fell into my hands. Weel, just as I wis in the middle o’ these ruminations, theootside door bell played ding wi’ sic fury that I nearly fell to the grun’ wi’ fricht; but I can tell ye my case wasna muckle mended when a grim polis offisher cam’ in and telt me that this same callant, Willie Warstle, the bursar, wha had sae lately shed tears ower the stern doctrine o’ the “ Decrees,” wis at that identical moment safe and sound in a prison cell. I wis perfect dumfunert, and for the instant fairly tint my reason, no’ to speak o’ my seven senses.

This wis a bonny pliskie ! It is true, he put on his coloured cap before he gaed oot, to attend an election meetin’ o’ students i’ the gleamin’, and I kent frae a lang experience that students aye gang oot o’ their judgment whenever they put thae coloured things on their heads.

“ But, mercy on us,” says I, “ there maun be some haloosinnashon—some, some mistake—are ye sure the laddie’s name is Warstle?”

The constable wis real ceevil, nae doot feelin’ for the sad pickle I wis in, he telt me that there had been a torchlicht procession o’ students, led on by a brass band, consistin’ o’ three trambones, a base fiddle, and a big drum. There had been riotous conduct endangerin’ the lieges, no’ to speak o’ the destruction o’ several sign-brods, hauf-a-dizzen lamps, forbye the pu’in doon o’ a gilt lamb that flourished abune the door o’ a weel-kent haberdasher in ane o’ the public thoroughfares. It wis most awfu’.

I paid the bail. I couldna think o’ the laddie lyin’ a’ nicht in a damp cell, amang keelies and ither riff-raff lawbreakers. Efter a’ there micht be some mistake.