“Puir things,” said Jinnet. “Ye divna see ony signs o’ decline aboot Mr Tod, do ye?” asked Erchie, anxiously. “I didna notice,” replied Jinnet, “but he taks his meat weel enough.” “The meat’s the main thing! But watch you if he hasna a hoast and thon hectic flush that aye breaks oot in chapter nine jist aboot the time he wins the gold medal.” “Och, ye’re jist an auld haver, Erchie,” said the wife. “Ye’re no’ to be frichtenin’ me aboot the puir callant, jist the same age as oor ain Willie.” The time of the Rectorial Election approached, and Tod began to display some erratic habits. It was sometimes the small hours of the morning before he came home, and though he had a latchkey, Jinnet could never go to bed until her lodger was in for the night. Sometimes she went out to the close-mouth to look if he might be coming, and the first night that, Erchie, coming home late from working at a civic banquet, found her there, Tod narrowly escaped being told to take his two bags and his alarm clock elsewhere. “I was needin’ a moothfu’ o’ fresh air onywye,” was Jinnet’s excuse for being out at such an hour. “But I’m feared that puir lad’s workin’ himsel’ to death.” “Whaur dae ye think he’s toilin’?” asked her husband. “At the nicht-school,” said Jinnet. “I’m shair the college through the day’s plenty for him.” “The nicht-school!” cried Erchie. “Bonny on the nicht-school! He’s mair likely to be roond in Gibson Street batterin’ in the doors o’ the Conservative committee-rooms, for I ken by his specs and his plush weskit he’s a Leeberal. Come awa’ in to your bed and never mind him. Ye wad be daein’ him a better turn maybe if ye chairged the gazogene to be ready for the mornin’, when he’ll be badly wantin’t, if I’m no’ faur mistaken.” Erchie was right--the-gazogene would have been welcome next morning. As it was, the lodger was indifferent to breakfast, and expressed an ardent desire for Health Salts. Erchie took them in to him, and found him groaning with a headache. “The dew’s awfu’ late on the high eastern hills this mornin’, Mr Tod,” said Erchie. “Losh, ye’re as gash as the Laird o’ Garscadden! I’m feart ye’re studyin’ far ower hard; it’s no’ for the young and growin’ to be hurtin’ their heids wi’ nicht-schools and day-schools; ye should whiles tak’ a bit rest to yersel’. And no’ a bit o’ yer breakfast touched! Mrs MacPherson’ll no’ be the pleased woman wi’ ye this day, I can tell ye!” Tod looked up with a lack-lustre eye. “Thought, Mr MacPherson, thought!” said he. “Hard, incessant, brain-corroding thought! In the words of the Bard of Avon, ‘He who increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.’” “I aye thocht that was ‘Ecclesiastes,’ Mr Tod,” said Erchie, meekly. “In a way, yes,” hastily admitted Tod. “It _was_ ‘Ecclesiastes,’ as you say; but Shakespeare had pretty much the same idea. You will find it in--in--in his plays.”