“That’s hopeful,” said his father. “I’m gled ye’re no’ puttin’ the blame on us. And I’m gled ye havena ony brass buttons on your claes.” “Brass buttons?” said Willie. “Ay! When your mother was wearyin’ to hear Erchie frae ye, I used to be tellin’ her that ye were likely a mate, or a purser, or something o’ that sort, and that busy in foreign pairts liftin’ the tickets in the fore saloon, where the dram’s cheaper and maist o’ the passengers go, that ye hadna time to write. Yince I took her doon to the docks and showed her a big ship gaun awa’ to Australia, wi’ the Captain on the tap flet, ca’in a handle and roarin’ ‘Let go that gangway!’ and ‘Nae smokin’ abaft the funnel!’ and she was as pleased as onything to see’t.’ Ever since then she thinks o’ her son Willie as a chap wi’ brass buttons ca’in a handle the same as he was a tramway driver, and that busy he hadna time to write. I’m gled ye havena brass buttons;” concluded Erchie, looking at his rather shabbily clothed scion. “It’s mair to your credit that ye were jist a fool and no’ a rascal.” “Man, ye’re jist as great a caution as ever,” said Willie, with the sincerest admiration. “Duffy the coal-man tellt me he saw ye yince doon aboot the Broomielaw,” said Erchie. “It was three years ago. I daursay ye were ower throng at the time to come up and see your mither and me. It’s a guid wye up here frae the Broomielaw; it costs a penny on the skoosh car. Or maybe it was a wet day.” Willie’s face, got red. “It wasna only yince I was at the Broomielaw,” he Said. “I’ve been in Gleska four times since I left it.” “Were ye indeed?” said his father. “Weel, weel, it was rale considerate o’, ye no’ to bother your auld mither and me. I’ll wager ye werena needin’ ony money.” “I was needin’ money gey bad every time,” said the son. “I aye had some when I landed, but it never got past the Broomielaw wi’ me. And that’s the wye I never cam near ye. I was ashamed, as shair’s death. Every time I was in the Clyde I cam up here at nicht, or to the auld hoose afore ye flitted, and looked at the close or went roond to the back coort and looked at the kitchen window.” “It’s a good thing I didna see ye there, or I wad maybe hae gien ye a clourin’.” “I wad hae liked it fine if ye had,” said the young man. “A clourin’ was the very thing I was needin’, and I kent it mysel, I was an awfu’ fool, faither.” “That’s jist whit ye were,” Erchie admitted. “It’s a lingerin’ disease, and that’s the warst o’t. I hope ye’ll maybe get ower’t.”