As the train began to move, a voice from the first called so that all the station heard. "Give's another shake of your hand, MacLure; I'm proud to have met you; you are an honor to our profession. Mind the antiseptic dressings."
It was market day, but only Jamie Soutar and Hillocks had ventured down.
"Did ye hear yon, Hillocks? hoo dae ye feel? A'll no deny a'm lifted."
Halfway to the Junction Hillocks had recovered, and began to grasp the situation.
"Tell's what he said. A' wud like to hae it exact for Drumsheugh."
"Thae's the eedentical words, an' they're true; there's no a man in Drumtochty disna ken that, except ane."
"An' wha's thar, Jamie?"
"It's Weelum MacLure himsel. Man, a've often girned that he sud fecht awa for us a', and maybe dee before he kent that he hed githered mair luve than ony man in the Glen.
"'A'm prood tae hae met ye', says Sir George, an' him the greatest doctor in the land. 'Yir an honor tae oor profession.'
"Hillocks, a' wudna hae missed it for twenty notes," said James Soutar, cynic-in-ordinary to the parish of Drumtochty.
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