“No, nor a polisman!” said Jinnet. “I was thinkin’ o’ maybe a quate lad in a warehouse, or a nice factor’s clerk, or something o’ that sort. He wad be nae bother. It’s jist the ae makin’ o’ parridge in the mornin’. Ye’re no’ to thraw wi’ me aboot this, Erchie; my mind’s made up I’m gaun to keep a ludger.” “If your mind’s made up,” he replied, “then there’s nae use o’ me argy-bargyin’ wi’ ye. I’m only your man. It bates me to ken whit ye’re gaun to dae wi’ the money, if it’s no’ to buy a motor-cairrage. Gie me your word ye’re no’ gaun in for ony sports o’ that kind. I wad hate to see ony wife o’ mine gaun skooshin’ oot the Great Western Road on a machine like a tar-biler, wi’ goggles on her een and a kahoutchy trumpet skriechin’ ‘pip! pip!”’ “Ye’re jist an auld haver,” said Jinnet, and turned to her sewing, her point gained. A fortnight after, as a result of a ticket with the legend “Apartments” in the parlour window, Jinnet was able to meet her husband’s return to tea one night with the announcement that she had got a lodger. “A rale gentleman!” she explained. “That weel put-on! wi’ twa Gled-stone bags, yin o’ them carpet, and an alerm clock for waukenin’ him in the mornin’. He cam’ this efternoon in a cab, and I think he’ll be easy put up wi’ and tak’ jist whit we tak’ oorsels.” “I hope he’s no’ a theatrical,” said Erchie. “Me bein’ a beadle in a kirk it wadna be becomin’ to hae a theatrical for a ludger. Forbye, they never rise oot o’ their beds on the Sunday, but lie there drinkin’ porter and readin’ whit the papers says aboot their playactin’.” “No, nor a theatrical!” cried Jinnet. “I wadna mak’ a show o’ my hoose for ony o’ them: it’s a rale nice wee fair-heided student.” Erchie threw up his hands in amazement. “Michty me!” said he, “a student. Ye micht as weel hae taen in a brass baun’ or the Cairter’s Trip when ye were at it. Dae ye ken whit students is, Jinnet? I ken them fine, though I was never at the college mysel’, but yince I was engaged to hand roond beer at whit they ca’d a Gaudiamus. Ye have only to tak’ the mildest wee laddie that has bad e’e-sicht and subject to sair heids frae the country and mak’ a student o’ him to rouse the warst passions o’ his nature. His mither, far awa’ in Clachnacudden, thinks he’s hurtin’ his health wi’ ower muckle study, but the only hairm he’s daein’ himsel’ is to crack his voice cryin’ oot impidence to his professors. I’m vexed it’s a student, and a fair-heided yin at that: I’ve noticed that the fair-heided yins were aye the warst.” “Weel, he’s there onywye, and we’ll jist hae to mak’ the best we can wi’ him,” said Jinnet. “Forbye, I think he’s a guid-leevin’ lad, Erchie; he tellt me he was comin’ oot for a minister.” “Comin’ oot for a minister!” said Erchie. “Then that’s the last straw! I’m sorry for your chevalier and book-case; he’ll be sclimbin’ int’t some nicht thinkin’ it’s the concealed bed.”