HOW THE WHEEL WAS TURNED.

Otago Witness, Issue 3017, 10 January 1912, Page 90

HOW THE WHEEL WAS TURNED.

By Alec Alan.’

No. lIL—JOHN BROWN. I

[All Rights Reserved.] “By the way, Alec,” said my old friend, “I have another of the folk of our young days to tell you something about. I wish also to see if you can read a riddle that he put to me, when I asked him about himself. He said that one of my schoolmates, who had also gone out to New 'Zealand, would bo able to read it for me.” “Who and what was he, and where did you find him?” “Before I reached Edinburgh by rail from London, I had been recommended by a fellow passenger, whom I had asked about the Edinburgh hotels, to go to one of the renovated old hotels in the Old Town. It was not only near to the station, but was admirably served, he said; and the rate of charges was very reasonable. I took liis advice—all the more readily that I almost fell into'the arms of a porter belonging to the place, who took charge of my luggage, as if it had been arranged beforehand. And, to tell the truth, it had. That travelling companion had dropped a ‘collect wire’ for the hotel as we passed a station where mails were left and picked up without stopping. So that accounted for the ready service I received.” “A smart business fellow, that traveller, wasn’t he?” I remarked. “He was a pushing young nephew of the landlord’s, as I found out afterwards, and was travelling for the far-famed Edinburgh ales. I found a brother of his assisting the uncle, and learning hotelkeeping. Now, who do you think the uncle was?” “I might guess,” said I; “but it is 36 years past since I was in Auld Reekie, and many changes take place in that time even in the Old Country. Just this week I read in a West of Fife newspaper of the son of an old hotel postboy whom I knew well, being landlord of a large inn there, and catering for a splendid aristocratic wedding party. With knowledge, will, and steady push, almost anyone may improve his position.” “ That’s quite true, Alec. Well, the landlord whom I found in that fine, new, old hotel in Edinburgh was named Brown.” “Quite a common name in an hotel, or in any other business, for the matter of that. It was as common as Smith cr Thomson in our old town. Was he a ‘ townie’ ?” “He was, and from our side of the town, too. You remember old John Brown and his sons, who were all masons or quarrymen?” “Except Davie, the second son, who learned to he a carpenter with Willie Scott, his mother’s brother, and then went to Edinburgh—was he the Brown you mean? But, no; he could not be! Ho died with his wife of some epidemic. If it Tvas any one of Quarryman Brown’s sons that you encountered in such a position, it must have been Jock. He was a wonderfully uncouth young man, and very thoughtless, I remember.” “It was John Brown,” said my friend, “hut there was nothing uncouth about him; and lie could not have become landlord of that large hotel, and kept its business going, or even a share of it, had he still been thoughtless. Yet when I remembered the upbringing that that family had, I did wonder what had wrought the change. But when he took me to his private quarters, and introduced me to his wife. I saw at once to whom the greater credit was due. You've heard

the saying, * A wife is either the making or the marring of a man’ ? Of course you have. Well, to quote another saying, it was easily seen that ‘ the grey mare was the better horse’ in that establishment. Did you know anything a|)out her? But she was the one who changed his life, or who turned the wheel for him. You may be to read the riddle that he gave me about it, saying that one man in New Zealand v/ould be able to explain tbs story.” : ‘Let me hear it, then ” Tlio lad was mired, the lass was lost; He never rueci when head: she tossed. Can vou read it?” ‘‘Oh, yes! I know the whole story, because it was my right hand that gave the first turn to the wheel.” ‘‘lt’s your turn to tell and mine to listen, so drive on with the story. ‘‘You remember Heston House at the West End? But of course you do. When I was in my fifteenth year a new tenant came to it, who required extra accommodation for servants ; and a wing was added at the back. Three masons did the building, and two of them were married men who went home for their dinners at 1 o’clock. The third was Jock Broon, as we called him then. He was ten years older than I was, but five years younger than the Heston House cook. Jock took a luncheon with him. The cook, from her kitchen window, saw him sitting on a plank like a lonesome bird, and slowly eating .a dry piece. So she pitied the young man. He was cleanly and not uncomely. She asked him to go in and get a cup of tea or a plate of soup. He went in, and got both. He praised the gifts and he praised the giver. Every day after that, till the building was finished, Jock sat at the kitchen table at dinner-time. He courted the cook and was fed. Afterwards his work took him too far away to allow of regular calls. “One afternoon—it is 57 years ago this September—l was sent on a hurried massage, and I took a short cut by a narrow street, with houses on one side only. When midway along I met Jock swaggering past, in newlywashed white moleskins. I guessed he was on his way to Heston House to take tea with the cook. He looked proud of himself, and smiled superciliously at me. I took no notice. I was in a hurry. As he passed close to me on the footpath, he snatched my bonnet off and walked away with it in his hand. I took no notice. I was in a hurry. After fifty yards or so separated us, I heard him yelling to me, ‘Come an’ get yer bonnet!’ I took no notice. I was in a hurry. Three times he called, louder and . louder ; and wives and bairns came out of the houses to see. Then he ran after me and, when within three or four yards of me, flung it at me, calling me nasty names. It fell at my feet. I took no notice. I was in a hurry. He then ran and picked it up, and, coming up with me, hanged it on my head. Likewise he swore. Also, but not likewise, he lifted his right foot to kick me. From the rage .he was in I suspected he would try that, and glanced round just in time to avoid the kick. Tli© vigorous impetus given to the foot carried it as high as my shoulder. My right hand easily helped it to go a foot or so higher, and he went over on to his broad back in the mire. It was not exactly ‘a deuk dub before the door,’ but it happened to be the dirtiest part of a very dirty gutter, and, like the ‘brisk wooer’ in the song, ‘there fell he, I troo!’ Before he could rise he had to turn over in it. I took no more notice. I was in a hurry. “This occurred near the upper end of the street, but before I turned the corner I heard much laughter and hurrying of feet in his direction. I hurried, tod, but in another direction. “What happened afterwards I heard partly from others, but mostly from John himself. Eh? Oh, yes! I had given up referring to him as Jock long before I left Scotland. He was well on the way to being able to retire, when I came off to New Zealand. You see, I was twentytwo years older then, and the ‘coup i’ the mire’ was only remembered as an episode at a critical juncture of his life, when lie got switched on to a new line.” “Ah!” Queried my friend, “how did that contribute to turn the wheel for him ?” “I shall state it as shortly as accuracy will admit of. That evening, after he had thoroughly cleaned himself and was dressed in his second best suit, he took his tea at homo, and sauntered down the long garden ‘baulk,’ or boundary path between two fens or sections. He was induced to take this walk by the remark of his landlady that their next-door neighbour’s only daughter had come home, out of place. Her mistress—a widow lady—had died, and had left her some monev. She was going to take a lengthened holiday at home this time. “John had been introduced to this lass a year before, when she had been at home only for a. short visit. His landlady, who had known her all her life, had her at tea. and had made the introduction. John was struck with her, and had she been as come-at-able as the Heston House cook he would have very much preferred to worship at her shrine, although the cook had several comfortable and comforting qualities. He had admired her—l can’t think he ever loved her —because she had been kind to hint, and was a. very good cook. The neighbour’s daughter was, a year older than the cook, but did not hv any means look it. ‘But then,’ as John afterwards remarked to me when tolling his story, ‘what does a year or twa maitter, when folk’s feelin’s fit?’ '' When he met her at the foot of the gardens that evening he did not know more of her than that she had been a good many years in a very good place What she had been doing he did not know, and he did not ask. “Their first greeting over, she remarked ; T did not expect to see you this evening. 1 thought I saw you going off in clean white fustians. You looked

like a toff mason out for an evening’s courting!’ ‘Ye’re a witch for a guesscr!” admired John. ‘ That’s just what I was after. But an accident happened before I was far down the wynd. My foot slipped, and I rolled in the gutter. I had to come ha ok and get off every rag I had on. By the time I had a hath and was dressed again it was tea time. I knew then that 1 was too late for the tryst, and so I had my tea at home.” ‘But why don’t you go now and explain?’ ” \ ‘Because I couldn’t see her now; and, besides, she's an ill-tempered woman. I'm glad of so good an excuse to be quit of her. I don’t like a woman who keeps on harp-harping about a fault as if she were pleased to have something to keep her ill-scraped tongue in use on. I ve heard her at it before, both with me and with the housemaid, her neighbour servant.’ While they talked they had been approaching the hack entrances ot the nouscs. Arrived there John said, ‘Will you not take a walk down town and see the shops to-night? It’s Saturday, and they are. kept open till 9. I have to go down at any rate to buy a new suit of moleskins.’ “ ‘ I don’t care to go unless I need to buy something.’ he was answered; ‘but to-night I do want something, and shall be glad of your protection on the streets. Of course, they will not be as crowded as Edinburgh streets are on Saturday nights.’ “‘Oh! you would wonder,’ retorted John, ‘where all the folk come from on fine Saturdays, when there’s moonlight. It is just like a Lammas market without the stalls, or the Cheap Johns shouting. The folk croud in from all the villages and farms within four or five miles of the town. They take heavy loads away with them - , and leave orders for the heavier lots to go out with the carriers’ and other carts .in the course of the next week. In about half an hour will be-the right time to go down and see both the shops and the shoppers.’ “‘Very well, John, I’ll he ready, and thank you!’ “So in due time the two went shopping together. Mies Bessie Wilkie was highly interested, and John excelled himself in trying to interest her. They enjoyed the busy scene, and wore pleased with one another. .

“ A most thrilling encounter occurred at a certain draper’s window, where they joined several sightseers in examining the display. The sound of John’s Voice addressing Bessie caused a well-dressed woman to turn round. She surveyed them with a look of ferocious ©corn, lifted her skirt • with a jerk and her nose with a sniff, turned 'on her heels, and mairched indignantly away. “John turned pale, and, when Bessie merely looked her inquiry, he, forgetting to speak English, exclaimed, 1 Dinna ya think I’m wed rid o' Her?’ “ After that ‘Bessie Wilkie’s beauties of mind and cleverness in cookery as far transcended those of the Res ton houoe dame de cuisine aa the sun does the moon. John’s landlady saw how matters were tending, and, being a friend of both, fomented the flame of love in every way possible.” . . “ But whv was he not staying at heme with hi s father?” asked my friend “ Because his father had flitted ou„ to a house near the quarry, and John, bein'* a mason, had to be near bis work. There was a building boom m the town, and those were the times of the 10-hour dav. Masons bad to economise daylight then in that There was no work for them in winter.” . <: I suppose John Bmwn married this Miss Bessie Wilkie? I remember be called h:& wife Bessie.” ~ “Oh. yes!' He was caught on the rebound from the scornful sniff of the cook that very evening. Bessie had no likmo- to return to service, however well paid "it might be. Jtelin did not work long at his trade after they were enga“fn”or.6 of their walks 'down town ’ shortly after, as they passed Claik s Restaurant. or eating-house, Bessie drew his attention to it. Clark had died a week before, and the bwaness and ! the place was to be cheppsed of Bud she • John -ymu said the other night that von wished von had something_ eke to do in the winter time than weaving. Wti„ not trv that business?’ . , “ ‘ Mv lass I know nothing about it. Besides: it would take more money to get into it than I hav- saved • ‘“But. John, you xorget that H some, and I am sure we could do the work together.” , , T «<T am very willing to learn what I don’t know about it, and T would be very happy learning from you. But would it notrtbe too heavy work for yon, cooking for each ci lot? , » m <1 think not. Besides when .t gets too heavy we could hire help. It would mean that the business was paying '“So thev agreed to inquire about it. They inquired, and succeeded in makin a bargain with Clark’s executors. In 10 days as husband and wife, they had taken* the business over as a going concern. John never after that lifted a mall, except in a Freemasons lodge. 1 he marriage was a very quiet one and there was no honeymoon to squander money. During the few spare days between the wedding and the entrance on the restaurant, Bessie was busy drilling John in handling dishes and serving tables, and, bein'* deperately willing, be became an apt “pupil- The John Brown of 7, People’s Restaurant was quite another stamp of a man from the mason, Jock Brown, whom I had “whummlet i the mire” a month before. And the improvements of person and _ deportment werd all the outcome of his love tor Bessie. I shudder to think what might have become of him had he fallen alto-

get.her into the hands of that con ten kero us jade of Reston House. “Into the restaurant in a short time they had introduced such changes in the number, quality, and cooking of the viands that the place became quite popular. Cleanliness, comfort, and ready service brought people of all sorts there for a midday meal. ‘ ‘ Artisans, clerks, shopkeepers—both masters and assistants, —visitors from the country, farmers with their wives and daughters on the weekly market days, and hearty crowds on fair days, all patronised the People’s Restaurant. A special room was set apart for school children, and, by the provision of a handy lavatory, they and artisans, whose work was grimy, were induced not to eat with unwashed hands. “Before I was translated to another part of the Lowlands they had male money and had sold out for the purpose of taking up a restaurant in a suitable street of the old town of Edinburgh. Only once, when returning home from Lanarkshire, did I have an opportunity of calling upon them there. « “Years later, when I was on my way to Glasgow to set sail for New Zealand, I made inquiries and found that they had taken the hotel in which you found them 20 years afterwards." “Yes, and they were ■ then about to retire to one of Mr Burnett’s fine villas, west of Rutland Square. The nephew was to take up the running,” interpolated my friend. “One thing I may mention before leaving the story of John Brown is that his old landlady, when she died, left her house and section to him, ‘just,’ as she (said, ‘to mak ’im esk'sie-peeksie wi‘ Bessie,’ who had fallen heir to the next door house and section through the death of her parents. The value of these would, no doubt, help them in acquiring the hotel.”