Reassured by his own speech, carried away by the expression of a sentiment he had not felt, his words grew louder, more confident, his glance more defiant and assured. "No! Not a tinker's damn do I give," he cried. "But I'll not have him back again. Oh, dear, no! Let him draw his bribes while he can and when he's able for when they're burst and a' to hell, and he comes whinin' back for his auld job, then I'll see him in hell as weel, before I lift a hand to help him. He's unco' quick to run away; I've no doubt he thinks his fortune's mac l e the poor fool but when he's back in the ditch I took him out o', he'll regret the day he ever left the house o' James Brodie."
He was transfigured, exalted by his speech, now believing utterly in this declamation which contrasted so absolutely with his sombre, sensible perception of a moment before; and, his spirit asserting itself more powerfully in the very recognition of its power, he glared back at them with wide, excited pupils. He hugged within himself the reflection that he could still control, dominate, overawe them, and as at last an idea, delightful and appropriate, struck him, he drew himself up and cried:
"No! It'll take more than that to upset James Brodie in spite o' what our wee friend in the corner has had the nerve to suggest. When ye hear me complainin', it'll be enough to get out your crape, and it'll be a lang, lang time before ye need mournin' on that account. It's a joke, though," his eye flickered round them with a rampant facetiousness "by gad! It's a joke that's worth a dram to us a'.
“Gentlemen," he cried, in a lordly voice, "shall we adjourn so that you may join me in a glass?"
They at once applauded him, delighted with his generous spirit, delighted at the thought of free refreshment, scenting ahead the chance of a carousal.
"Good for you, Brodie!"
"Scotland for ever! A man's a man for a' that."
"I'm wi' ye, juist a wee deoch-an-dorris to keep out the cauld."
"There's life in the auld horse yet!"
The Provost himself slapped him on the back. "Man, Brodie! You're a caution. Ye've the pluck o' a lion, the strength o' a bull, ay, and the pride o' the deevil there's no bcatin' of ye. I believe ye wad dee before ye took a lickin'."
At these words they stood up, concurring, and all but Grierson swarmed round him so that he stood amongst them, his fierce glance encompassing them, encouraging yet rebuking, sanctioning yet subduing, approving yet admonishing, like an emperor surrounded by his court. His blood, the blood that was noble like an emperor's, coursed more imperially in his veins than did the thin, serous fluid that was in theirs. In his heavy brain he felt he had achieved a great and noble action, that his gesture, in the teeth of disaster had been sublime.
"Lay on, MacDuff," they cried, stirred by the unwonted laxity and magnanimity of his usually unapproachable nature, impatient to savour the rich, golden liquor he would provide for them. As he led them through the back door of the club into the outer air and they filed, eventually, into Phemie's wee back parlour, he felt the danger was over, that he was again the master of them.
Soon the drinks were flowing as they toasted him jubilantly, in McDonald's finest Chieftain whisky, for his generosity, his discrimination, his strength. As he flung out a golden sovereign, birling it grandly on to the round, mahogany table, a faint glimmering of sense at the back of his mind whispered to him how little he could afford it now, but he thrust the thought back again, stamped it out fiercely with a loud, "Here's to us wha's like us?"
"It's a be-autiful dram, this," purred Grierson, smacking his lips appreciatively as he held his glass up to the light. "A beautiful dram, mild as mother's milk and smooth as weel smooth as the nap on one o' our friend's braw hats. The only pity is that it's so deshed more expensive than orner stuff." He tittered spitefully, knowingly, towards Brodie.
"Drink it up then, man!" replied Brodie loudly. "Lap it up when ye get the chance. You're no' payin' for't. By God, if we were a' as mean as you, the world would stop goin' round."
"That's one to put in your pipe, Grierson," laughed Paxton, hoarsely.
"Speakin' o' stinginess did ye hear the latest one about our wee friend here?" cried the Provost, with a nod towards Grierson and a wink at Brodie.
"No! What was it?" they chorused. "Tell us, Provost."
"Weel," replied Gordon, with a knowing look, "it' short and sweet. The other day a wheen bairns were playin' about outside our friend's grain store, beside a big sack o' beans at the door, when up comes the son o' the house. "Get away, boys," young Grierson cries, "and don't touch these beans or my feyther'll find out. He's got every one o' them counted!"
A roar of appreciation arose from the assembly, through which Grierson murmured easily, blinking through the smoke:
"I'll no deny I ken how many beans make five, Provost, but it's a handy thing these days wi' so much hardship and poverty about."
But Brodie, upon his throne, the already warmed pith of him flaming under the potent whisky, neither heard nor heeded the innuendo as, filled with a wild elation, the desire to act, to liberate his strength, to smash something, seized him and, raising his empty glass high above his head, he suddenly shouted, without point in the , conversation, "To hell with them! To hell with these measly Mungo swine!" and shattered the heavy tumbler violently against the wall.
The others, now mellow for his mood, responded gleefully.
"That's the spirit!"
"Another round, gentlemen."
"No heeltaps."
"Gie us a song, Wullie."
"Speech! Speech!" came their shouts.
At this point a discreet knock upon the door, followed by the noiseless entry, felt-slippered yet formidable, of the landlady, interrupted the fluid current of their hilarity.
"Ye're merry the night, Gentlemen," she said with a thin, tight-lipped smile which inferred that their gaiety was not entirely becoming to them or wholly pleasing to her. "I hope ye'll no' forget the good name o' the house." Much as she valued their connection she was too remote, too virtuous, altogether too much of an institution to be imposed upon by them. "I dinna like to hear the smash o' glass," she added acidly.
"Tits, Phemie, woman, it'll be paid for," cried Brodie. She nodded slightly, as though to convey to him that she had already taken that for granted, but in a slightly mollified tone she remarked:
"What's the occasion?"
"Just a little celebration given by our esteemed member at the head o' the table," murmured Grierson. "I dinna ken what it's to celebrate, exactly, but ye micht ca' it a beanfeast without ony beans."
"Never mind him, Phemie; send us in another hauf mutchkin," cried a voice.
"Well ye have a wee hauf yersel', Phemie?" remarked the Provost, breezily.
"Come awa' and sit on my knee, Phemie," cried one of the erstwhile draughts players now, alas, incapable of differentiating a crowned man from a peppermint oddfellow.
"Send in the whisky, Phemie," demanded Brodie. "Ill make them a' behave themselves."
She reproved them individually and collectively with her glance, raised a warning forefinger, and padded out as silently as she had come, murmuring as she went:
"Dinna forget the name o' the house. I'll send ye in the speerits, but ye maun keep quiet; ye maun mind the good name o' the house."
When she had gone the ball of their gaiety rolled of? again, quickly gathered speed, and bounded more exuberantly than before.
"Never mind Phemie," cried a voice; "her bark is waur than her bite, but her face is waur than the two o' them thegither."
"Ye wad think this public o' hers was a tabernacle o' righteousness," cried another, "she's that uncommon godly about it. She wad have ye drink like ye were in the kirk."
"There's a braw, wee tittle in the front pews, onyway," replied the more bibulous draughts player. "They say Nancy, the barmaid, is as obleegin' as she's bonnie." He winked round the assembly knowingly.
"Tits, man, tits!" cried the Provost reprovingly. "Don't 'file the nest that you're sittin' in."
"That's the cuckoo ye wad be meanin'," replied the other agreeably; "but I'm no' that."
"Would ye like me to give ye a verse o' Burns?" called out Paxton. "I'm just ripe to let ye have 'The Deil amang the Tailors.' "
"Our chairman promised us a bit speech, did he not?" remarked Grierson insinuatingly.
"Ay! Come awa' wi' that speech ye were goin' to give us," cried the Provost.
"Speech!" they insisted again. "Speech from the chairman."