The Curling Season 197

“ Well,’ he admitted, “I might have man-
aged to pass the circus ring, though what I have
told you is true. However, I have not come
this way merely to see how the match is going.
I want to shame Mr. Duthie for neglecting his
duty. It will help me to do mine, for the Lord
knows I am finding it hard, with the music of
these stones in my ears.”

“T never saw it played before,’ Gavin said,
standing up in his turn. ‘What a din they
make! McQueen, I believe they are fighting!”

“No, no,” said the excited doctor, “they are
just a bit daft. That’s the proper spirit for the
game. Look, that’s the baron-bailie near stand-
ing on his head, and there’s Mr. Duthie off his
head a’ thegither. Yon’s twa weavers and a
mason cursing the laird, an the man wi’ the
besom is the Master of Crumnathie.”

“ A democracy, at all events,” said Gavin.

“ By no means,” said the doctor, “it’s an aris-
tocracy of intellect. Gee up, Lightning, or the
frost will be gone before we are there.”

“Tt is my opinion, doctor,” said Gavin, “ that
you will have bones to set before that game is
finished. I can see nothing but legs now.”

“ Don’t say a word against curling, sir, to me,”
said McQueen, whom the sight of a game in
which he must not play had turned crusty.
“Dangerous! It’s the best medicine I know
of. Look at that man coming across the field.
It is Jo Strachan. Well, sir, curling saved Jo’s
life after I had given him up. You don’t believe
me? Hie, Jo, Jo Strachan, come here and tell the
minister how curling put you on your legs again.”