After the professors of ‘Humanity’ (as Latin is called in the north) and of Greek had been duly interviewed, Alec and his friend returned to the High Street without going back to the quadrangles; and in a few minutes they pulled Mrs. Macpherson’s brightly-polished bell-handle. ‘I’ve brought a friend, a fellow-student, who wants to know if you have any more rooms to let,’ said Alec. ‘Is he a medical?’ asked the good woman, knitting her brows. ‘I am proud to say that I am,’ said Cameron. ‘Then this is no the place for you ava.’ ‘An’ what for no?’ ‘I’ve had eneuch, an’ mair than eneuch, o’ thae misguidet callants, wi’ their banes, an’ their gases, an’ their gruesome talk, an’ their singin’ sangs, an’ playing cairds, an’ drinkin’, till twa, or maybe haulf-past on a Sabbath mornin’. Na, na; I’ll hae nae mair o’ the tribe, at no price.’ But this opposition made Cameron determined that under that roof and no other would he take up his abode for the winter. He bound himself by a solemn promise to introduce neither bones, human or animal, nor chemicals of any kind, upon the premises, and to behave himself discreetly in other respects. He then remembered that his aunt’s husband’s cousin was a Macpherson; and when it came out that the landlady’s ‘forbears’ came from Auchintosh, which was within a day’s sail of the island where the Camerons had their home, all objections were withdrawn. A large dingy sitting-room, with a ‘concealed bed’ constructed in a recess, so that the room could also be used as a bedroom, was pronounced by Cameron to be too grand; and on Mrs. Macpherson saying that all her other rooms were let except an attic, he asked if he might see that apartment. They climbed up a steep and narrow staircase, and presently stood in a long narrow room, right under the slates, so low in the ceiling that Cameron could only walk along one side of it. It was furnished with a narrow bedstead, a small deal table, and two or three stout chairs. ‘First-rate!’ exclaimed Cameron. ‘The very thing;’ and going to the skylight, he pushed it open and thrust out his head and shoulders. ‘Plenty of air here--not fresh, but better than nothing. What is the rent?’ The rent was five shillings and sixpence a week, and after a vain effort to get rid of the sixpence, and an elaborate agreement on the subject of coals, the bargain was concluded. ‘That’s settled,’ said Cameron; ‘and now I’m off to the Broomielaw to get my impedimenta oot o’ the _Dunolly Castle_. Will ye come?’ Having nothing better to do, Alec readily acquiesced; and the two young men walked down Buchanan Street with its broad wet pavements, and through the more crowded Argyle Street and Jamaica Street, till they reached the wharf.