"Ay. Hae ye ony tin cans or umbrellas tae mend—I'll dae them for a pint?"
"No. Now, M'Haggis, what are you?"
"A coal merchant."
"Where?"
"Doon below."
"In the pits—I thought that, by your neck. And where did you get the name of Whiskers?" he next inquired of a queer-looking mortal from Cowcaddens.
"Frae ma faither. The hair used tae grow oot o' his nose an' ears. He wis a Hielanman frae Tobermory."
"Umph—I can see the heather sticking out of your toes as well," interjected Cursem. Then turning to Tamson, he asked his pedigree.
"Rags and balloons, sergint."
"I suppose you push the barrow?"