“So, on the day concerning which I am about to speak, it fell out, as usual, that he happened to be making his rounds, halting a moment, or twa maybe, before ilka pot; the man that had the charge thereof, by the way of stirring like, clapping down his lang fork, and bringing up the piece of meat, or whatever he happened to be making kail of, to let the inspector see whether it was lamb, pork, beef, mutton, or veal. For, ye observe,” continued Thomas, giving me, as I took it to myself, another queer side-look, “the purpose of the offisher making the inspection, was to see that they laid out their pay-money conform to military regulation; and not to fyling their stamicks, and ruining baith sowl and body, by throwing it away on whisky—as but ower mony, that aiblins should have kenned better, have dune but too often.”
“’Tis but ower true,” said I till him; “but the best will fa’ intil a faut sometimes. We have a’ our failings, Thomas.”
“Just so,” answered Thomas; “but where was I at?—Ou, about the whisky. Weel, speaking about the whisky, ye see the offisher, Lovetenant Todrick I b’lief they called him, had made an observe about Duncan’s kettle; so, when he came to him, Duncan was sitting in the lown side of a dyke, with his red nose, and a pipe in his cheek, on a big stane, glowring frae him anither way; and, as I was saying, when he came to him he said,
“‘Weel, Duncan MacAlpine, what have ye in your kettle the day, man?’
“And Duncan, rinning down his lang fork, answered in his ain Highland brogue way—‘Please your honours, just my auld favourite, tripe.’
“‘’Deed, Duncan,’ said Lovetenant Todrick, or whatever they caa’d him, ‘it is an auld favourite surely, for I have never seen ye have onything else for your dinner, man.’
“‘Every man to his taste, please your honour,’ answered Duncan MacAlpine; ‘let ilka ane please her nain sell,’—hauling up a screed half a yard lang. ‘Ilka man to his taste, please your honour, Lovetenant Todrick.’”
“’Od, man,” said I to him, “’Od, man, ye’re a deacon at telling a story. Ye’re a queer hand. Weel, what came next?”
“What think ye should come next?” quo’ Thomas drily.