“‘Miss Cranston,’ says I.
“‘Was she tryin’?’ says Duffy.
“‘She took baith hands to’t,’ I tellt him. ‘And a gey smert wumman, too, if ye ask me.’ He stood five meenutes afore I could get him in, wi’ his een glued on the fancy doors.
“Do ye hae to break yer wey in?’ says he. “‘No, nor in, I tells him; look slippy in case some o’ yer customers sees ye!’
“‘Och! I havena claes for a place o’ the kind,’ says he, and his face red.
“‘Man!’ I says, ‘ye’ve henned—that’s whit’s wrang wi’ ye: come in jist for the pant; naebody ‘ll touch ye, and ye’ll can come oot if it’s sore.’
“In we goes, Duffy wi’ his kep aff. He gave the wan look roond him, and put his hand in his pooch to feel his money. ‘Mind I have only the three flaffers and a half, Erchie,’ says he.
“‘It’ll cost ye nae mair than the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults,’ I tellt him, and we began sclimmin’ the stairs. Between every rail there was a piece o’ gless like the bottom o’ a soda-water bottle, hangin’ on a wire; Duffy touched every yin o’ them for luck.
“‘Whit dae ye think o’ that, noo?’ I asked him.
“‘It’s gey fancy,’ says Duffy; ‘will we be lang?’ “‘Ye puir ignorant cratur!’ I says, losin’ my patience a’thegither, ‘ye havena a mind in the dietin’ line above a sate on the trams o’ a lorry wi’ a can o’ soup in your hand.’