“Do ye need a collar for the gallery?” asked Duffy, who thought the Art Institute was a music-hall. On this point Erchie set him right, and ten minutes later, with a collar whose rough edges rasped his neck and made him unhappy, he was on his way to Sauchiehall Street.
The band was playing a waltz tune as they entered the Institute.
“Mind, I’m no’ on for ony dancin’,” Duffy explained. “I canna be bothered dancin’.”
“There’s naebody gaun to ask ye to dance,” said Erchie. “Do you think there couldna be a baun’ playin’ withoot dancin’? It’s jist here to cod a lot o’ folk into the notion that they can be cheery enough in a place o’ the kind in spite o’ the pictures. And ye can get aifternoon tea here, too.”
“I could be daein’ wi’ a gless o’ beer,” said Duffy.
“No. They’re no’ that length yet,” Erchie explained. “There’s only the tea. The mair determined lovers o’ the Fine Arts can dae the hale show in an aifternoon noo wi’ the help o’ a cup o’ tea, so that they needna come back again. It’s a great savin’. They used to hae to gang hame for their tea afore, and whiles they never got back. The Institute wasna popular in thae days; it was that quate and secluded that if a chap had done onything wrang and the detectives were efter him he took a season ticket, and spent a’ his days here. Noo, ye can see for yersel’ the place is gaun like an inn. That’s the effect o’ the baun’ and the aifternoon tea. If they added a baby incubator to the attractions the same’s they hae in the East-End Exhibeetion, they would need the Fire Brigade wi’ a hose to keep the croods oot. Ye hae nae idea o’ the fascination Art has for the people o’ Gleska if they’re no’ driven to’t.”
“My jove!” exclaimed Duffy, at the sight of the first gallery. “Whit a lot o’ pictures! There’ll be a pile o’ money in a place o’ this kind. Hiv they no water-shoot, or a shootin’ jungle, or onything lively like that?”
