As the travellers had foreseen when they set out, they had a good twenty minutes to wait at the corner of the lane till the coach came up; then came the long, monotonous drive, the horses’ hoofs keeping time to ‘Auld Lang Syne’ in Alec’s head all the way; then the railway journey. Blake had, as a matter of course, taken a first-class ticket. Alec had, equally as a matter of course, taken a third-class one. When this was discovered, Blake took his seat beside his friend, laughing at the uneasiness depicted on Alec’s face, and declined without a second thought the lad’s proposal that he too should travel first-class and pay the difference of fare. But the incident caused Alec acute mental discomfort, which lasted till they reached Glasgow. When the train steamed into the terminus, it seemed as if it were entering a huge gloomy cavern, where the air was composed of smoke, mist, and particles of soot. The frost still held the fields in Kyleshire; but here the rain was dripping from every house-top, and the streets were covered with a thick layer of slimy mud. Blake shuddered. ‘I’ve got nothing particular to do, Alec,’ said he; ‘let me help you to look for lodgings.’ But Alec had no mind to let his friend see the sort of accommodation with which he would have to content himself; and the artist saw that the lad wanted to decline his offer, without very well knowing how. ‘Or perhaps you’d rather hunt about by yourself?’ continued Blake. ‘Well, in that case, I think I’ll be off to Edinburgh at once, and go to London that way. Anything to be out of this.’ He stopped suddenly, and hoped that his companion had not heard his last words. They took a cab to Queen Street; and after seeing his friend off to Edinburgh, Alec set out on his quest of a shelter. A few steps brought him to the district north of George Street, where, in those days, the poorer class of students had their habitations. The streets were not particularly broad, and the houses were of tremendous height, looking like great barracks placed one at the end of another, though their hewn-stone fronts saved them from the mean appearance of brick or stucco exteriors. After a good deal of running up and down steep staircases (for these houses are built in flats), Alec at last pitched upon a narrow but lofty sitting-room, with a still narrower bedroom opening from it. For this accommodation the charge was only eight shillings a week. After a peculiarly uncomfortable meal, Alec Lindsay set out for ‘The College.’ The University of Glasgow, founded by a Bull of one of the mediæval Popes, had in those days its seat in the High Street, once the main thoroughfare of the city, but long since fallen from its old estate. The air seemed thicker, more full of smoke and soot, of acid vapours and abominable smells, in this quarter, than in any other part of the town.