_Tonal._ "Surely I was."
_Tugal._ "Ay, ay! Maybe you was never on poard too, after thus----"
_Tonal._ "I dud."]
[Ill.u.s.tration: NON BEN (LOMOND) TROVATO.
_Rory (fresh from the hills)._ "Hech, mon! Ye"re loa.s.sin" a" yer watter!!"
_Aungus._ "Haud yer tongue, ye feul! Ett"s latt oot to stoap the laddies frae ridin" ahint!!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: "NOTHING LIKE LEATHER"
_Bookseller_ (_to Lanarkshire country gentleman who had brought his back numbers to be bound_). "Would you like them done in "Russia" or "Morocco," sir?"
_Old Gentleman._ "Na, never maind aboot Rooshy or Moroccy. I"ll just hae "em boond in Glasgy here!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE TROUBLES OF STALKING
_Irate Gillie_ (_on discovering in the distance, for the third time that morning, a "brute of a man" moving about in his favourite bit of "forest"_). "Oh! deil take the people! Come awa", Muster Brown, sir; _it"s just Peekadilly!!!_"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: A FALLEN a.s.s
_Indignant Gillie_ (_to Jones, of London, who has by mistake killed a hind_). "I thoucht ony fule ken"t it was the stags that had the horns!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: BONCHIENIE
_Young Lady Tourist_ (_caressing the hotel terrier, Bareglourie, N.B._).
"Oh, Binkie is his name! He seems inclined to be quite friendly with me."
_Waiter._ "Oo, aye, miss, he"s no vera parteec"lar wha he taks oop wi!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: "CANNY"
_First North Briton._ ""T"s a fine day, this?"
_Second ditto._ "No ill, ava."
_First ditto._ "Ye"ll be travellin"?"
_Second ditto._ "Weel, maybe I"m no."
_First ditto._ "Gaun t"Aberdeen, maybe?"
_Second ditto._ "Ye"re no faur aff"t!!"
[_Mutually satisfied, each goes his respective way_
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PURCHASING LIMIT
_Mr. Steinsen_ (_our latest millionaire--after his third fruitless stalk_). "Now, look here, you rascal! if you can"t have the brutes tamer, I"m hanged if I don"t sack you!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: GROWING POPULARITY OF THE HIGHLANDS
_Mrs. Smith_ (_of Brixton_). "Lor", Mr. Brown, I "ardly knoo yer! Only think of our meetin" _"ere_, this year, instead of dear old Margit! An"
I suppose that"s the costume you go _salmon-stalking_ in?"]
MORE SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND
ON A CALLANDER CHAR-A-BANC.
SCENE--_In front of the Trossachs Hotel. The few pa.s.sengers bound for Callander have been sitting for several minutes on the coach "Fitz-James" in pelting rain, resignedly wondering when the driver will consider them sufficiently wet to start._
_The Head Boots (to the driver)._ There"s another to come yet; he"ll no be lang now. (_The cause of the delay comes down the hotel steps, and surveys the vehicle and its occupants with a surly scowl._) Up with ye, sir, plenty of room on the second seats.
_The Surly Pa.s.senger._ And have all the umbrellas behind dripping on my hat! No, thank you, I"m going in front. (_He mounts, and takes up the ap.r.o.n._) Here, driver, just look at this ap.r.o.n--it"s sopping wet!
_The Driver (tranquilly)._ Aye, I"m thinking it wull ha" got a bet domp.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye"ve a mind to it."]
_The Surly P._ Well, I"m not going to have this over me. Haven"t you got a _dry_ one somewhere?
_The Driver._ There"ll be dry ones at Collander.
_The Surly P. (with a snort)._ At Callander! Much good that is! (_With crushing sarcasm._) If I"m to keep dry on this concern, it strikes me I"d better get inside the boot at once!
_The Driver (with the air of a man who is making a concession)._ Ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye"ve a mind to it.