A battle was on between the endurance of the man and the
persistence of the terrier. Mr. Traill was speculating on which
was likely to be victor in the contest, when the front door was
opened and the proprietor of the Book Hunter's Stall put in a
bare, bald head and the abstracted face of the book-worm that is
mildly amused.

"Have you tak'n to a dog at your time o' life, Mr. Traill?"

"Ay, man, and it would be all right if the bit dog would just
tak' to me."

This pleasantry annoyed a good man who had small sense of humor,
and he remarked testily "The barkin' disturbs my customers so
they canna read." The place was a resort for student laddies who
had to be saving of candles.

"That's no' right," the landlord admitted, sympathetically.
"'Reading mak'th a full man.' Eh, what a deeference to the warld
if Robbie Burns had aye preferred a book to a bottle." The
bookseller refused to be beguiled from his just cause of
complaint into the flowery meads of literary reminiscences and
speculations.

"You'll stop that dog's cleaving noise, Mr. Traill, or I'll
appeal to the Burgh police."

The landlord returned a bland and child-like smile. "You'd be
weel within your legal rights to do it, neebor."