“And you’re going further than Carlisle, you say, sir? I’ll be sworn the good lady is up somewhere in that direction, and she won’t be disappointed when she sees you--oh, no! Scotch, sir?” “I am not Scotch,” said Lavender, curtly. “And she?” Should he have to throw the man out of the window? “Yes.” “The Scotch are a strange race--very,” said the genial person, producing a brandy flask. “They drink a trifle, don’t they? and yet they keep their wits about them if you’ve dealings with them. A very strange race of people, in my opinion--very. Know the story of the master who fancied his man was drunk? ‘Donald, you’re trunk,’ says he. ‘It’s a tam lee,’ says Donald. ‘Donald, ye ken ye’re trunk,’ says the master. ‘Ah ken ah wish to Kott ah was!’ says Donald. Good story, ain’t it, sir?” Lavender had heard the remarkable old joke a hundred times, but just at this moment there was something odd in this vulgar person suddenly imitating, and imitating very well, the Highland accent. Had he been way up in the North? or had he merely heard the story related by one who had been? Lavender dared not ask, however, for fear of prolonging a conversation in which he had no wish to join. Indeed, to get rid of the man, he shoved a whole bundle of the morning papers into his hand. “What’s your opinion of politics at present, sir?” observed his friend, in an off-hand way. “I haven’t any,” said Lavender, compelled to take back one of the newspapers and open it. “I think myself they’re in a bad state; that’s my opinion. There ain’t a man among them that knows how to keep down those people; that’s my opinion, sir. What do you think?” “Oh, I think so, too,” said Lavender. “You’ll find a good article in that paper on University Tests.” The cheery person looked rather blank. “I would like to hear your opinion about ’em, sir,” he said. “It ain’t much good reading only one side of a question; but when you can talk about and discuss it, now--” “I am sorry I can’t oblige you,” said Lavender, goaded into making some desperate effort to release himself. “I am suffering from a relaxed throat at present. My doctor has warned me against talking too much.” “I beg your pardon, sir. You don’t seem very well; perhaps the throat comes with a little feverishness, you see--a cold, in fact. Now if I was you I would try tannin lozenges for the throat. They’re uncommon good for the throat; and a little quinine for the general system--that would put you as right as a fiver. I tried it myself when I was down in ‘Ampshire last year. And you wouldn’t find a drop of this brandy a bad thing, either, if you don’t mind rowing in the same boat as myself.” Lavender declined the proffered flask, and subsided behind a newspaper. His fellow-traveler lit another cheroot, took up Bradshaw, and settled himself in a corner.