GUILD AND SHEPHERD.

Our hearts were uplifted, but now we were mightily embarrassed as to the
figure we would cut before the Writers to the Signet. You must remember
that we were two young vagabonds in the earliest twenties, travelling
with slim knapsacks, and much soiled by a fortnight on the road. I was
in knickerbockers and khaki shirt; Mifflin in greasy gray flannels and
subfusc Norfolk. Our only claims to gentility were our monocles. Always
take a monocle on a vagabond tour: it is a never-failing source of
amusement and passport of gentility. No matter how ragged you are, if
you can screw a pane in your eye you can awe the yokel or the tradesman.

The private records of the firm of Guild and Shepherd doubtless show
that on Friday, July 28, 1911, one of their polite young attachés,
appearing as per appointment at 17 Heriot Row, was met by two eccentric
young gentlemen, clad in dirty white flannel hats, waterproof capes,
each with an impressive monocle. Let it be said to the honour of the
attaché in question that he showed no symptoms of surprise or alarm. We
explained, I think, that we were scouting for my father, who (it was
alleged) greatly desired to settle down in Edinburgh. And we had
presence of mind enough to enquire about plumbing, stationary wash-tubs,
and the condition of the flues. I wish I could remember what rent was
quoted.

He showed us all through the house; and you may imagine that we stepped
softly and with beating hearts. Here we were on the very track of the
Magician himself: his spirit whispered in the lonely rooms. We imagined
R.L.S. as a little child, peering from the windows at dusk to see Leerie
light the street-lamps outside--a quaint, thin, elvish face with shining
brown eyes; or held up in illness by Cummie to see the gracious dawn