On a Callander Char-a-banc.
Scene—In front of the Trossachs Hotel. The few passengers bound for Callander have been sitting for several minutes on the coach "Fitz-James" in pelting rain, resignedly wondering when the driver will consider them sufficiently wet to start.
The Head Boots (to the driver). There's another to come yet; he'll no be lang now. (The cause of the delay comes down the hotel steps, and surveys the vehicle and its occupants with a surly scowl.) Up with ye, sir, plenty of room on the second seats.
The Surly Passenger. And have all the umbrellas behind dripping on my hat! No, thank you, I'm going in front. (He mounts, and takes up the apron.) Here, driver, just look at this apron—it's sopping wet!
The Driver (tranquilly). Aye, I'm thinking it wull ha' got a bet domp.
The Surly P. Well, I'm not going to have this over me. Haven't you got a dry one somewhere?
The Driver. There'll be dry ones at Collander.
The Surly P. (with a snort). At Callander! Much good that is! (With crushing sarcasm.) If I'm to keep dry on this concern, it strikes me I'd better get inside the boot at once!
The Driver (with the air of a man who is making a concession). Ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it.