Jock hesitated, meditating a sudden charge, but checked by his respect
for Doctor Dunn.

"Here, you fellows!" shouted a voice. "Fall in; the band is going to
play! Get into line there, you Tam-o'-shanter; you're stopping the
procesh! Now then, wait for the line, everybody!" It was Little Martin
on top of the van in which were the Scottish players. "Tune, 'Old
Grimes'; words as follows. Catch on, everybody!"

"Old Dunn, old Dunn, old Dunn, old Dunn,
Old Dunn, old Dunn, old Dunn,
Old Dunn, old Dunn, old Dunn, old Dunn,
Old Dunn, old Dunn, old Dunn."

With a delighted cheer the crowd formed in line, and, led by the little
quarter-back on top of the van, they set off down the street, two men at
the heads of the doctor's carriage horses, holding them in place behind
the van. On went the swaying crowd and on went the swaying chant, with
Martin, director of ceremonies and Dunn hurling unavailing objurgations
and entreaties at Jock's head.

Through the uproar a girl's voice reached the doctor's ear:

"Aren't they lovely, Sir?"

The doctor turned to greet a young lady, tall, strong, and with the
beauty of perfect health rather than of classic feature in her face.
There was withal a careless disregard of the feminine niceties of dress.

"Oh, Miss Brodie! Will you not come up? We can easily make room."