There was a wild embrace, which lasted longer than the time allowed by the official programme. Other greetings were then given. Next the band formed up, with Spud and his girl in the centre, the remainder following behind, and off they stepped out of the Central Station to yells and hoochs and the tune of "The Old Brigade." Traffic had to be suspended at various points in Argyle Street till the laughing throng marched past. As they neared the Gallowgate they received a stirring welcome. And from out of his father’s window Spud observed a string of balloons with "Welcome" painted on their sides. The echo of the cheering and the band had completely upset the equilibrium of Maw Tamson. She dropped the finnin haddies among the cookies, and mixed table beer with the lemonade. Even the cold-blooded Tamson was roused. He was hanging over the window waving an old red shirt, and shouting, "Hooray! Hooray!" The mongrel "dug" was doing a sort of gaby glide along the waxcloth, while the cat skipped over the floor in a joyful tango style. "He’s comin’! He’s comin’!" shouted Mrs Tamson at last, at the same time wiping her large red lips with her rough brown apron. Just then the door burst open, and Spud, Mary Ann, and the whole crowd entered. "Ma son! ma son!" said the excited old lady, grasping the fragile form of her offspring into her great arms. Her kisses almost lifted the skin off her hero’s face. Indeed, she only released him on his shouting, "You’re chokin’ me, Maw." Tamson senior next tendered a hearty welcome. These formalities over, the company were invited to take seats and be merry. Of course there was a crush. But Mary Ann was given a place of honour at the miniature table, while the remainder were accommodated on the jawbox, dresser, the bed, fender, and coal-bunker. "Ye’ll jist need tae tak’ pot-luck," was Mrs Tamson’s opening address, as she dispensed a bit of potted heid, finnin haddie, gingerbread, a cookie, and a glass of liquid refreshment all round. "Help yersel’, Mary," said Spud to his chosen one, at the same time pressing her foot underneath the table. "The’ll be a waddin’ here next, Mrs Tamson," piped in shrewd Mrs M’Fatty. "It’s anither free feed ye’re efter, I’m thinkin’," retorted Spud, with a wink at his beaming Maw. "Onywey, I’ll no’ get mairret till I’m a gen’ral." After supper there was a general entertainment. Paw Tamson danced the Fling and the Hornpipe, just as he used to do at the Hielanmen’s Corner; Maw sang— "Spud, he is ma daurlin’, ma daurlin’, Spud, he is ma daurlin’, An’ a braw Chevalier."