'
Dr. Anderson laughed, but his eyes glittered.
Robert found Shargar busy over his Latin version. With a 'Weel,
Shargar,' he took his books and sat down. A few moments after,
Shargar lifted his head, stared a while at Robert, and then said,
'Duv you railly think it, Robert?'
'Think what? What are ye haverin' at, ye gowk?'
'Duv ye think 'at I ever could grow intil a gentleman?'
'Dr. Anderson says he expecs 't o' ye.'
'Eh, man!'
A long pause followed, and Shargar spoke again.
'Hoo am I to begin, Robert?'
'Begin what?'
'To be a gentleman.'
Robert scratched his head, like Brutus, and at length became
oracular.
'Speyk the truth,' he said.
'I'll do that. But what aboot--my father?'
'Naebody 'ill cast up yer father to ye. Ye need hae nae fear o'
that.'
'My mither, than?' suggested Shargar, with hesitation.
'Ye maun haud yer face to the fac'.'
'Ay, ay. But gin they said onything, ye ken--aboot her.'
'Gin ony man-body says a word agen yer mither, ye maun jist knock
him doon upo' the spot.'
'But I michtna be able.'
'Ye could try, ony gait.'
'He micht knock me down, ye ken.'
'Weel, gae doon than.'
'Ay.'
This was all the instruction Robert ever gave Shargar in the duties
of a gentleman. And I doubt whether Shargar sought further
enlightenment by direct question of any one. He worked harder than
ever; grew cleanly in his person, even to fastidiousness; tried to
speak English; and a wonderful change gradually, but rapidly, passed
over his outer man.
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