Description

On entering Aberfoyle, I looked at my never-right watch to assume that I was only half-an-hour down on schedule for the 10 a.m. rendezvous with Callander John. An excited John demanded an explanation for my late arrival on this pleasant September Sunday. Telling him a sad tale of a puncture and of weary legs after a mid-week sprint from Paris to Brest and back seemed to do the pacifying trick. The real reason, whisper, whisper, was because we have a new and, for the first time, a good-looking addition to the Berwick household—Whisky, the kitten. The task of feeding the wee devil rested on my broad masculine shoulders (take a bow, George), as Elsie was away spending a week-end in her country cave on Arran.