say it unprovoked; on
the other hand, his swaggering love of notice impelled him to some form
of talk that would attract attention. So he made a point of always
coming with daft stories of things comic that befell him--at least, he
said they did. But if his efforts were greeted with too loud a roar,
implying not only appreciation of the stories, but also a contempt for
the man who could tell them of himself, his sensitive vanity was
immediately wounded, and he swelled with sulky anger. And the moment
after he would splurge and bluster to reassert his dignity.

"I remember when I was a boy," he hiccupped, "I had a pet goose at
home."

There was a titter at the queer beginning.

"I was to get the price of it for myself, and so when Christmas drew
near I went to old MacFarlane, the poulterer in Skeighan. 'Will you buy
a goose?' said I. 'Are ye for sale, my man?' was his answer."

Armstrong flung back his head and roared, prolonging the loud _ho-ho!_
through his big nose and open mouth long after the impulse to honest
laughter was exhausted. He always laughed with false loudness, to
indicate his own superiority, when he thought a man had been guilty of a
public silliness. The laugh was meant to show the company how far above
such folly was Mr. Armstrong.

Gourlay scowled. "Damn Armstrong!" he thought, "what did he yell like
that for? Does he think I didn't see the point of the joke against
myself? Would I have told it if I hadn't? This is what comes of being
sensitive. I'm always too sensitive! I felt there was an awkward
silence, and I told a story against myself to dispel it in fun, and this
is what I get for't. Curse the big brute! he thinks I have given myself
away. But I'll show him!"

He was already mellow, but he took another swig to hearten him, as was
his habit.

"There's a damned sight too much yell about your laugh, Armstrong," he
said, truly enough, getting a courage from his anger and the drink. "No
gentleman laughs like that."

"'_Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est_,'" said Tarmillan, who was on one
of his rare visits to the Howff. He was too busy and too wise a man to
frequent it greatly.

Armstrong blushed; and Gourlay grew big and brave, in the backing of the
great Tarmillan. He took another swig on the strength of it. But his
resentment was still surging. When Tarmillan went, and the three
students were left by themselves, Gourlay continued to nag and bluster,
for that blatant laugh of Armstron