"But he maun be a warm man though, Brodie. He's aye free o' his money splashin' it about like water, spendin' it on onything that might take his fancy. He has the best o' everything, and then ye wad think that wasna good enough for him. Look at his dress, look at his braw new tie-pin and signet ring, and besides," the speaker looked around cautiously before he uttered the next words, "look at his graund country castle." A slight smirk seemed to traverse the entire party and covert glances of well-subdued amusement were exchanged.
"Look at his auld wife's boots, her elegant clothes and braw appearance," replied Grierson. "Look at his bank balance his wee Nessie was a fortnight late wi' her fees at the Academy this quarter. Look at the flicker in his proud eye when he thinks ye Ye not watchin' him. I tell you that the big, big man that he thinks he is is beginnin' to feel a wee bittie vexed about things." An intense undercurrent of innuendo lay behind the words as he continued, "I may be wrong but, in my humble opinion, I consider that James Brodie is goin' through the worst time o' his life. And if he's not careful, he'll be down where he's flung many another man right down in the gutter!"
"Ay, he's an awfu' man to make enemies. Speakin' o' the gutter, though, I maun tell you this one." Paxton took a few reflective draws at his pipe. "I was passin' Brodie's shop the other Saturday night when a kind o' commotion stopped me." He puffed again twice. "There was a big, drunken street worker in the shop, fu' as a whelk, and fu' o' his week's wages - in the mood to fling out the pound notes like a harrier's trail I saw the roll o' notes in his hand and he stood there swayin' afore Brodie, ordering a couple o' hats and a couple o' bonnets, and this and that and goodness knows a' what. He was in the mood to buy up the whole shop, ay and pay for 't too. Brodie, and God knows he must have needed the money sorely, stood glarin' at him out o' his starin' red eye." Reaching the climax of his story he sucked interminably at his pipe, before removing it, pointing it emphatically, and proceeding. " 'If ye can't say 'please’ when ye address me,' Brodie was snarlin', 'then ye'll get nothing here. Other places,' he sneered, 'might stand that style o' thing. Go there if ye choose, but if ye come to me ye'll behave yourself or get out.' I didna hear what the other said in reply, but it must have outraged Brodie frightful, for he louped the counter and gripped the other's neck, and before ye could say knife had flung him out o' the shop right into the dirty gutter, where he lay, knocked stupid, at my feet."
A pregnant pause succeeded the anecdote.
"Ay," sighed the first draughts player at last, "he has an uncommon temper. His pride is fair terrifyin’ now. It's his worst enemy. He used no' to be so conspicuous in that respect, but of late years it's fair run awa' wi' him. He's as proud as Lucifer."
"And 'tis my belief he'll have the same fall," inserted Grierson. "He's bloated with his own vanity ! It's worked on him till it's like a very mania."
"And the rideeclous cause o't too!" said Paxton, in a low cautious tone; "that claimin' kinship wi' the Wintons! I'll swear he thinks he should be the Earl himself. 'Tis strange too, the way he hides it, yet feasts on it."
"They wouldna own him. Brodie may have the name. He may look like the Wintons. But what's in a name and what's in a likeness?" said the first draughts player. "He hasna a shadow o' proof."
"I'm afeared what proof there was had a big, black bar through it," remarked Grierson judicially; "for I'm gey and certain that onything that might have happened lang back took place the wrang side o' the blanket. That's why our friend willna blatter it out. That's maybe the bonnie kinship."
"'Tis not only kinship that he claims," said Provost Gordon slowly. "Na! Na! The disease has swelled beyond that. I hardly like to come over it to ye and 'deed I'm hardly sure myself, but I’ll mention no names and ye mustna repeat it. I had it from a man who saw James Brodie when he was the worse o' liquor, mad ravin’
drunk. There's no' many has seen that," he continued, "for he's a close man in they things. But this night his dour tongue was loosed and he talked and "
"Another time, Provost," cried Paxton suddenly. "Wheesht, man, wheesht."
"Talk o' the deevil."
"About that new trap o' yours now, Provost, will ye "
Brodie had entered the room. He came in heavily, blinking at the sudden transition from the darkness to the lighted room and frowning from the bitter suspicion that he had been at the moment of his entry the object of their backbiting tongues. His dour, hard face had to-night a pale grimness, as he looked around the company, nodding his head silently several times in salutation, more in the manner of a challenge than a greeting.
"Come away in, come away in," remarked Grierson smoothly; "we were just wonderin' if the rain that was threatenin' had come on yet."
"It's still dry," said Brodie gruffly. His voice was flat, had lost its old resonant timbre, was, like the brooding mask of his face, inexpressive of anything but stoic endurance. He took out his pipe and began to fill it. An old man, the messenger and factotum of the club, dignified as such by a green baize apron, put his head around the door in speechless enquiry, and to him Brodie shortly remarked,
"The usual."
A momentary silence descended upon the group whilst the old man retreated, was absent, returned shamblingly with a large whisky for Brodie, then finally departed. The Provost felt it his duty to break the awkward stillness which had descended upon the group and, looking at Brodie, he said, in a kindly tone, moved in spite of himself by the other's ghastly look:
"Well, Brodie man, how are things with ye? How's the world waggin' now?"
"Oh! Fair, Provost! very fair," replied Brodie slowly, "Nothing to complain about." The grim assumption of indifference in his tone was almost tragic and deceived none of the assembly, but Gordon, with an assumption of heartiness, retorted:
"That's fine! That's the ticket! We're expectin' every day to see the Mungo Company wi' the shutters up.”
Brodie accepted this polite fiction and the spurious murmur of assent from the group which followed it, not with the blatant satisfaction which it would have provoked six months ago but, in the face of his present position, with a blank indifference which the others did not fail to observe. They might discuss him freely in his absence, criticise, condemn, or even vilify him, but when he was in their midst their strongly expressed feelings weakened sensibly under the shadow of his actual presence and they were impelled, often against their wish, to make some flattering remark which they did not mean and which they had not intended to utter.
He was a man whom they thought wiser to humour; better to keep on the right side of, safer to propitiate than to enrage; but now, as they noted his moody humour and slyly watched his oppressed demeanour, they wondered if his iron control might be at last beginning to fail him.
A gentle, insinuating voice from the corner, addressing the company at large, broke into their general air of meditation.
"If you Ye thinkin' o' the Company's shutters goin' up you'll a' have to bide a wee na, na, they'll not be shuttin' up shop for a bit, anyway not for a bittie," drawled Grierson.
"How's that?" queried some one.
"Oh! Just a little private information," answered Grierson complacently, pursing his lips, placing his finger tips together and beaming on the company, especially upon Brodie, with an aspect of secret yet benevolent comprehension. Brodie looked up quickly from beneath his tufted eyebrows, not fearing the man but dreading, from his past experience, the sly, meek attitude which betokened in the other a deep and calculating venom.
"What is it then, man?" asked Paxton. "Out with it!"
But now that he had thoroughly aroused their curiosity, Grierson was in no haste to divulge his secret information and still smiled sleekly, keeping them on tenterhooks, tantalising them with the plum which would not drop from his lips until it was juicy with ripeness.