But, billie, the whusky's Scotch!'

The train slowed and the old gentleman got out. From the platform he
stormed at Merton.

'Ye're no an awakened character, ma freend,' answered Merton. 'Gude
nicht to ye! Gie ma love to the gude wife and the weans!'

The train pursued her course.

'Aw 'm saying, billie, aw 'm saying,' remarked one of the roughs,
thrusting his dirty beard into Merton's face.

'Weel, _be_ saying,' said Merton.

'You're no Lairdie Bower, ye ken, ye haena the neb o' him.'

'And wha the deil said a _was_ Lairdie Bower? Aw 'm a Lanerick man.
Lairdie's at hame wi' a sair hoast,' answered Merton.

'But ye're wearing Lairdie Bower's auld big coat.'

'And what for no? Lairdie has anither coat, a brawer yin, and he lent me
the auld yin because the nichts is cauld, and I hae a hoast ma'sel! Div
_ye_ ken Lairdie Bower? I've been wi' his auld faither and the lasses
half the day, but speakin's awfu' dry work.'

Here Merton repeated the bottle trick, and showed symptoms of going to
sleep, his head rolling on to the shoulder of the rough.

'Haud up, man!' said the rough, withdrawing the support.

'A' freens here,' remarked Merton, drawing a dirty clay pipe from his
pocket. 'Hae ye a spunk?'

The rough provided him with a match, and he killed some time, while
Preston Pans was passed, in filling and lighting his pipe.

'Ye're a Lanerick man?' asked the inquiring rough.

'Ay, a Hamilton frae Moss End. But I'm taking the play. Ma auld tittie
has dee'd and left me some siller,' Merton dragged a handful of dirty
notes out of his trousers pocket. 'I've been to see the auld Bowers, but
Lairdie was on the shift.'

'And ye're ganging to Embro?'

'When we cam' into Embro Toon
We were a seemly sicht to see;
Ma luve was in the--

I dinna mind what ma luve was in--

'And I ma'sel in cramoisie,'

sang Merton, who had the greatest fear of being asked local questions
about Moss End and Motherwell. 'I dinna ken what cramoisie is, ma'sel','
he added. 'Hae a drink!'

'Man, ye're a bonny singer,' said the rough, who, hitherto, had taken no
hand in the conversation.

'Ma faither was a precentor,' said Merton, and so, in fact, Mr. Merton
_pere_ had, for a short time, been--of Salisbury Cathedral.

They were approaching Portobello, where Merton rushed to the window,
thrust half of his body out and indulged in the raucous and meaningless
yells of the festive artisan. Thus he tided over