Mr Dickson Mc Cunn laid down the newspaper, took his spectacles from his nose, and polished them with a blue-and-white spotted handkerchief.
‘It will be a great match, ‘ he observed to his wife. ‘I wish I was there to see. These Kangaroos must be a fearsome lot.’ Then he smiled reflectively. ‘Our laddies are not turning out so bad, Mamma. Here’s Jaikie, and him not yet twenty, and he has his name blazing in the papers as if he was a Cabinet Minister.’
Mrs Mc Cunn, a placid lady of a comfortable figure, knitted steadily. She did not share her husband’s enthusiasms.
‘I know fine, ‘ she said, ‘that Jaikie will be coming back with a bandaged head and his arm in a sling. Rugby in my opinion is not a game for Christians. It’s fair savagery.’
‘Hoots, toots! It’s a grand ploy for young folk. You must pay a price for fame, you know. Besides, Jaikie hasn’t got hurt this long time back. He’s learning caution as he grows older, or maybe he’s getting better at the job. You mind when he was at the school we used to have the doctor to him every second Saturday night…. He was always a terrible bold laddie, and when he was getting dangerous his eyes used to run with tears. He’s quit of that habit now, but they tell me that when he’s real excited he turns as white as paper. Well, well! we’ve all got our queer ways. Here’s a biography of him and the other players. What’s this it says?’
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