ed afore lang, he'll be gettin' in amon' thae
anarkist billies or something. I tell you he's fit eneuch for onything.

We took the cheap trip to Edinboro, juist to hae a bit look round the
metrolopis, as Sandy ca'd it to the fowk i' the train. He garred me
start twa-three times sayin't; I thocht he'd swallowed his pipe-shank,
he gae sic a babble.

We wasna weel startit afore he begude wi' his nonsense. There was a
young bit kimmerie an' a bairnie i' the carriage, an' the craturie grat
like onything. "I winder what I'll do wi' this bairn?" said the
lassie; an' Sandy, in the middle o' argeyin' wi' anither ass o' a man
that the Arbroath cricketers cud lick the best club i' the country,
says, rale impident like to the lassie, "Shuve't in ablo the seat."

"You hertless vegabon," says I; "think shame o' yoursel! Gie me the
bairnie," says I; an' I got the craturie cowshined an' quieted.

There was nae mair nonsense till we cam till a station in Fife wi' an'
awfu'-like name. I canna mind what it was, an' never will, I suppose.
The stationmester had an awfu' reed nose--most terriple.

"Is the strawberries a gude crap roond aboot here?" said Sandy till
him, out at the winda; an' you never heard what lauchin' as there was
on the pletform. The stationmester's face got as reed's his nose, an'
he ca'd Sandy for a' the impident whaups that ever travelled.

Sal, Sandy stack up till him, though; an' when the train moved awa' the
fowk hurrehed like's it had been a royal marriage. The stationmester
didna hurreh ony.

Gaen ower the Forth Brig I thocht twa-three times Sandy wud be oot at
the window heid-lang. I was juist in a fivver wi' him an' his ongaens.
Hooever, we landit a' richt in Edinboro. An' what a day! I thocht
when we got to a temperance hotel at nicht that I had a chance o' an
'oor's peace. But haud your tongue! Weesht! I'll juist gie you the
thick o' the story clean aff luif.

It was a rale comfortable-lookin' hoose, and we got a nice
clean-lookin' bedroom, an' efter a'thing was arranged, Sandy an' me
gaed awa' doon as far as Holyrood, whaur Queen Mary got ane o' her
fiddlers killed, an' whaur John Knox redd her up for carryin' on like a
pagan linkie instead o' the Queen o' Scotland. Weel, it was gey late
when we got back to oor hotel, an' we juist had a bit snack o' supper,
an' up the stair we gaed. We were three stairs up. We had a seat, an'
a crack an' a look oot at the winda, for we saw a lang wey