und the time pass
slowly, and I was glad that about noon one day we came into a bay
blocked with islands and saw a clean little town sitting on the hills
and the smoke of a railway engine.

I went ashore and purchased a better brand of hat in a tweed store.
Then I made a bee-line for the post office, and asked for telegrams.
One was given to me, and as I opened it I saw Gresson at my elbow.

It read thus:

_Brand, Post office, Oban. Page 117, paragraph 3. Ochterlony._

I passed it to Gresson with a rueful face.

'There's a piece of foolishness,' I said. 'I've got a cousin who's a
Presbyterian minister up in Ross-shire, and before I knew about this
passport humbug I wrote to him and offered to pay him a visit. I told
him to wire me here if it was convenient, and the old idiot has sent me
the wrong telegram. This was likely as not meant for some other brother
parson, who's got my message instead.'

'What's the guy's name?' Gresson asked curiously, peering at the
signature.

'Ochterlony. David Ochterlony. He's a great swell at writing books, but
he's no earthly use at handling the telegraph. However, it don't
signify, seeing I'm not going near him.' I crumpled up the pink form
and tossed it on the floor. Gresson and I walked to the _Tobermory_
together.

That afternoon, when I got a chance, I had out my _Pilgrim's Progress_.
Page 117, paragraph 3, read:

'_Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, over
against the Silver-mine, stood Demas (gentlemanlike) to call to
passengers to come and see: who said to Christian and his
fellow, Ho, turn aside hither and I will show you a thing._

At tea I led the talk to my own past life. I yarned about my
experiences as a mining engineer, and said I could never get out of the
trick of looking at country with the eye of the prospector. 'For
instance,' I said, 'if this had been Rhodesia, I would have said there
was a good chance of copper in these little kopjes above the town.
They're not unlike the hills round the Messina mine.' I told the
captain that after the war I was thinking of turning my attention to
the West Highlands and looking out for minerals.

'Ye'll make nothing of it,' said the captain. 'The costs are ower big,
even if ye found the minerals, for ye'd have to import a' your labour.
The West Hielandman is no fond o' hard work. Ye ken the psalm o' the
crofter?

_O that the peats would cut themselves,
The fish chump on the shore,