And really, Bogle, I do not think that we are compensated in the sight of Heaven, by our five guineas a-day, for the enormous immoralities which we contract in this overgrown and seductive city. There are some thousands of us here, all living like plethoric gamecocks; and, so far as I can gather, going, in plain language, as fast as possible to the devil. I wish you saw the scramble which takes place in the lobby of the committee-rooms at twelve. A perfect torrent of engineers, surveyors, solicitors, agents, and witnesses—in the middle of which, every here and there, appears the cauliflower head of a counsel—pours up the stairs. The refreshment table below is blocked up with thirsty demons, all clamorous for soda-water, their matutinal tea having failed to quench the old hereditary drought. You wrestle your way into the committee-room, and before the members meet, you become the edified auditor of such scraps of information as the following:—
“Whaur d’ye think Jimsey and me gaed tae last nicht after ‘The Judge and Jury?’”
“I’m sure I dinna ken: some deil’s buckie’s errand, I’se be bound.”
“Gosh, man! we gaed tae the Puckadully Saloon; and Jimsey there took twa turns wi’ an opera dancer at the Polka. Eh, man! she was a grand yin.”
“Was ye no feared, Jimsey?”
“Me feared? Deil a bit. She telt me I was unco like Count Dorsy.”
“And whaur did ye gang after?”
“I dinna mind: I was awfu’ fou.”
“Weel, I wasna muckle better mysel’. Me and Wattie Strowan gaed down to Greenitch, and we forgathered wi’ twa Paisley lads in the steamboat. But there’s Wattie. How d’ye find yoursel’ this morning, Wattie?”
“No richt ava. I woke at eleven with my boots on, and somebody has helped theirsel’ to my watch.”