White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)

However, on this occasion he had not to listen long; for presently Mrs. Menzies returned, smiling, good-natured, radiant in further finery; and then they all had supper together; and she did her best to console her cousin for being cooped up in the great city on the eve of the Twelfth. And Ronald was very grateful to her; and perhaps, in his eager desire to keep up this flow of high spirits, and to forget what was happening at Inver-Mudal and about to happen, he may have drunk a little too much; at all events, when Laidlaw and Jaap and the skipper came in they found him in a very merry mood, and Kate Menzies equally hilarious and happy. Songs? – he was going to no Harmony Club that night, he declared – he would sing them as many songs as ever they liked – but he was not going to forsake his cousin. Nor were the others the least unwilling to remain where they were; for here they were in privacy, and the singing was better, and the liquor unexceptionable. The blue smoke rose quietly in the air; the fumes of Long John warmed blood and brain; and then from time to time they heard of the brave, or beautiful, or heart-broken maidens of Scotch song – Maggie Lauder, or Nelly Munro, or Barbara Allan, as the chance might be – and music and good fellowship and whisky all combined to throw a romantic halo round these simple heroines.

'But sing us one o' your own, Ronald, my lad – there's none better, and that's what I say!' cried the widow; and as she happened to be passing his chair at the time – going to the sideboard for some more lemons, she slapped him on the shoulder by way of encouragement.

'One o' my own?' said he. 'But which – which – lass? Oh, well, here's one.'

He lay back in his chair, and quite at haphazard and carelessly and jovially began to sing – in that clearly penetrating voice that neither tobacco smoke nor whisky seemed to affect —

Roses white, roses red,
Roses in the lane,
Tell me, roses red and white,
Where is —

And then suddenly something seemed to grip his heart. But the stumble was only for the fiftieth part of a second. He continued:

Where is Jeannie gane?

And so he finished the careless little verses. Nevertheless, Kate Menzies, returning to her seat, had noticed that quick, instinctive pulling of himself up.

'And who's Jeannie when she's at home?' she asked saucily.

'Jeannie?' he said, with apparent indifference. 'Jeannie? There's plenty o' that name about.'

'Ay; and how many o' them are at Inver-Mudal?' she asked, regarding him shrewdly, and with an air which he resented.

But the little incident passed. There was more singing, drinking, smoking, talking of nonsense and laughing. And at last the time came for the merry companions to separate; and he went away home through the dark streets alone. He had drunk too much, it must be admitted; but he had a hard head; and he had kept his wits about him; and even now as he ascended the stone stairs to his lodgings he remembered with a kind of shiver, and also with not a little heartfelt satisfaction, how he had just managed to save himself from bringing Meenie's name before that crew.

CHAPTER XIV

ENTANGLEMENTS

And then came along the great evening on which the first of Ronald's songs that Mr. Jaap had set to music was to be sung at the Harmony Club. Ronald had unluckily got into the way of going a good deal to that club. It was a relief from weary days and vain regrets; it was a way of escape from the too profuse favours that Kate Menzies wished to shower upon him. Moreover, he had become very popular there. His laugh was hearty; his jokes and sarcasms were always good-natured; he could drink with the best without getting quarrelsome. His acquaintanceship rapidly extended; his society was eagerly bid for, in the rough-and-ready fashion that prevails towards midnight; and long after the club was closed certain of these boon-companions would 'keep it up' in this or the other bachelor's lodgings, while through the open window there rang out into the empty street the oft-repeated chorus —

'We are na fou', we're nae that fou',
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barky bree!'

The night-time seemed to go by so easily; the daytime was so slow. He still did his best, it is true, to get on with this work that had so completely lost all its fascination for him; and he tried hard to banish dreams. For one thing, he had gathered together all the fragments of verse he had written about Meenie, and had added thereto the little sketch of Inver-Mudal she had given him; and that parcel he had resolutely locked away, so that he should no longer be tempted to waste the hours in idle musings, and in useless catechising of himself as to how he came to be in Glasgow at all. He had forborne to ask from Maggie the answer that Meenie had sent to her letter. In truth, there were many such; for there was almost a constant correspondence between these two; and as the chief subject of Maggie's writings was always and ever Ronald, there were no doubt references to him in the replies that came from Inver-Mudal. But he only heard vaguely of these; he did not call often at his brother's house; and he grew to imagine that the next definite news he would hear about Meenie would be to the effect that she had been sent to live with the Stuarts of Glengask, with a view to her possible marriage with some person in their rank of life.

There was a goodly to-do at the Harmony Club on the evening of the production of the new song; for Ronald, as has been said, was much of a favourite; and his friends declared that if Jaap's music was at all up to the mark, then the new piece would be placed on the standard and permanent list. Mr. Jaap's little circle, on the other hand, who had heard the air, were convinced that the refrain would be caught at once; and as the success of the song seemed thus secure, Mrs. Menzies had resolved to celebrate the occasion by a supper after the performance, and Jimmy Laidlaw had presented her, for that purpose, with some game which he declared was of his own shooting.

'What's the use o' making such a fuss about nothing?' Ronald grumbled.

'What?' retorted the big skipper facetiously. 'Naething? Is bringing out a new poet naething?'

Now this drinking song, as it turned out, was a very curious kind of drinking song. Observe that it was written by a young fellow of eight-and-twenty; of splendid physique, and of as yet untouched nerve, who could not possibly have had wide experience of the vanities and disappointments of human life. What iron had entered into his soul, then, that a gay and joyous drinking song should have been written in this fashion? —

Good friends and neighbours, life is short,
And man, they say, is made to mourn;
Dame Fortune makes us all her sport,
And laughs our very best to scorn:
Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
A merry glass before we go.

The blue-eyed lass will change her mind,
And give her kisses otherwhere;
And she'll be cruel that was kind,
And pass you by with but a stare:
Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
A merry glass before we go.

The silly laddie sits and fills
Wi' dreams and schemes the first o' life;
And then comes heap on heap o' ills,
And squalling bairns and scolding wife:
Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
A merry glass before we go.

Come stir the fire and make us warm;
The night without is dark and wet;
An hour or twa 'twill do nae harm
The dints o' fortune to forget:
So now will have, come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go.

To bonny lasses, honest blades,
We'll up and give a hearty cheer;
Contention is the worst of trades —
We drink their health, both far and near:
And so we'll have, come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go.

And here's ourselves! – no much to boast;
For man's a wean that lives and learns;
And some win hame, and some are lost;
But still – we're all John Thomson's bairns!
So here, your hand! – come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go!

'And some win hame, and some are lost' – this was a curious note to strike in a bacchanalian song; but of course in that atmosphere of tobacco and whisky and loud-voiced merriment such minor touches were altogether unnoticed.

'Gentlemen,' called out the rubicund chairman, rapping on the table, 'silence, if you please. Mr. Aikman is about to favour us with a new song written by our recently-elected member, Mr. Ronald Strang, the music by our old friend Mr. Jaap. Silence – silence, if you please.'

Mr. Aikman, who was a melancholy-looking youth, with a white face, straw-coloured hair, and almost colourless eyes, stepped on to the platform, and after the accompanist had played a few bars of prelude, began the song. Feeble as the young man looked, he had, notwithstanding, a powerful baritone voice; and the air was simple, with a well-marked swing in it; so that the refrain – at first rather uncertain and experimental – became after the first verse more and more general, until it may be said that the whole room formed the chorus. And from the very beginning it was clear that the new song was going to be a great success. Any undercurrent of reflection – or even of sadness – there might be in it was not perceived at all by this roaring assemblage; the refrain was the practical and actual thing; and when once they had fairly grasped the air, they sang the chorus with a will. Nay, amid the loud burst of applause that followed the last verse came numerous cries for an encore; and these increased until the whole room was clamorous; and then the pale-faced youth had to step back on to the platform and get through all of the verses again.

'So here, your hand! – come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go!'