Already a mighty roar was heard outside. The green, the drive, the
gateways, and the street were blocked with the wildest football fanatics
that Edinburgh, and all Scotland could produce. They were waiting for
the International players, and were bent on carrying their great captain
down the street, shoulder high; for the enthusiasm of the Scot reaches
the point of madness only in the hour of glorious defeat. But before
they were aware, Dunn had shouldered his mighty form through the
opposing crowds and had got safely into the carriage beside his father
and his young brother. But the crowd were bound to have him.

"We want him, Docthor," said a young giant in a tam-o'-shanter. "In
fac', Docthor," he argued with a humourous smile, "we maun hae him."

"Ye'll no' get him, Jock Murchison," shouted young Rob, standing in
front of his big brother. "We want him wi' us."

The crowd laughed gleefully.

"Go for him, Jock! You can easy lick him," said a voice encouragingly.

"Pit him oot, Docthor," said Jock, who was a great friend of the family,
and who had a profound respect for the doctor.

"It's beyond me, Jock, I fear. See yon bantam cock! I doubt ye'll hae to
be content," said the doctor, dropping into Jock's kindly Doric.

"Oh, get on there, Murchison," said Dunn impatiently. "You're not going
to make an ass of me; make up your mind to that!"