"Takin' the len' o' anither chap's watch. But what hae ye been daein' yersel', Wull?"
"The same auld job."
"Naethin'?"
"Na, I'm in the umbrella trade, ye ken, an' the wife's on the road wi' me. She sells laces, an' mooches the grub. Man, it's the best thing I ever did, when I got mairret. There's naething like a wife tae work for ye, lad."
This is a sample of the greetings exchanged over the foaming ale. When all had sufficient, and were more or less groggy about the legs, they sallied out into the streets [pg 71] en route for the barracks. Of course the town was prepared. The Chief Constable had a "Guard of Honour" right to the barracks gate, while the Parish Minister had quietly lectured the old maids and young maids to be indoors on that occasion. The more timid shopkeepers "baured the windows and door," but all the bairns turned out to see the fun. Up the streets they leisurely ambled, some mumbling on the way—
"Soon we'll be married
Never more to part,
For little Annie Rooney
She is my sweetheart."
Others warbled—
"I'm fu' the noo, I'm absolutely fu',
But I adore the country I was born in.
My name is Jock M'Craw,
An' I dinnae care a straw,
For I've something in the bottle for the mornin'."
But the majority sang—
"We're soldiers of the King, my lads,
Who've been, my lads, who've seen, my lads,
The fights for Britain's Glory, lads,
When we've had to show them what we mean;
And when they ask us how it's done,
We proudly point to every one—
Yes, we proudly point to every one
Of Britain's soldiers of the King."