At
the top, he found himself under the bare roof, with only boards and
slates between him and the clouds. The landing was lighted by a
skylight, across which diligent and undisturbed spiders had woven their
webs for years. He stood for a moment or two, puzzled as to which door
he ought to assail, for all the doors about looked like closet-doors,
leading into dingy recesses. At last, with the aid of his nose, he made
up his mind, and knocked.
"Come in," cried a voice of peculiar tone. It reminded Alec of
something he could not at all identify, which was not wonderful, seeing
it was of itself, heard once before, that it reminded him. It was the
same voice which, as he walked to the debate, the first night, had
warned him not to look at rainbows.
He opened the door and entered.
"What do you want?" said the voice, its source almost invisible in the
thick fumes of genuine pigtail, through which it sent cross odours of
as genuine Glenlivat.
"I want you to help me with a bit of Homer, if you please, Mr
Cupples-???I'm not up to Homer yet."
"Do ye think I hae naething ither to do than to grin' the grandur o' an
auld haythen into spunemate for a young sinner like you?"
"Ye dinna ken what I'm like, Mr Cupples," returned Alec, remembering
his landlady's injunction not to be afraid of him.
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