“Ye see,” Erchie went on, “Art pentin’s a tred by itsel’. “Maybe it’s no’ near so bad as it looks.” “You and me’s no’ judges o’ that sort o’ thing,” said Erchie. “It’s awfu’ like as if somebody had done it themsel’s in their spare time.” “This yin’s done by hand onywye,” said Duffy, pointing to the foggy impression by Sidaner. It’s no’ athegither the pent, it’s the layin’ o’t on by hand.” “Ye’ll seldom get a good picture under a pound. It cost me nearly a pound wan wye or anither, though I provided the pent mysel’.” It’s a drawin’ o’ a horse I yince had in my first lorry it was pented for me by a penter that lodged above us, and had a great name for signboards. “I could hae lent them a topper,” said Duffy, – “faur aheid o’ onything here. “No’ the hale o’ them there’s some on lend.” “Are they a’ for sale?” asked Duffy, looking with great intentness at a foggy impression by Sidaner, the French artist. This is no’ an ordinary show for haein’ fun at it’s for enlargin’ the mind, openin’ the e’en to the beauties o’ nature, and sellin’ pictures.” “Man, ye’re awfu’ common, whiles, Duffy,” said Erchie. Hiv they no water-shoot, or a shootin’ jungle, or onything lively like that?” “Whit a lot o’ pictures! There’ll be a pile o’ money in a place o’ this kind. “My jove!” exclaimed Duffy, at the sight of the first gallery. Ye hae nae idea o’ the fascination Art has for the people o’ Gleska if they’re no’ driven to’t.” If they added a baby incubator to the attractions the same’s they hae in the East-End Exhibeetion, they would need the Fire Brigade wi’ a hose to keep the croods oot. That’s the effect o’ the baun’ and the aifternoon tea. Noo, ye can see for yersel’ the place is gaun like an inn. The Institute wasna popular in thae days it was that quate and secluded that if a chap had done onything wrang and the detectives were efter him he took a season ticket, and spent a’ his days here. They used to hae to gang hame for their tea afore, and whiles they never got back. The mair determined lovers o’ the Fine Arts can dae the hale show in an aifternoon noo wi’ the help o’ a cup o’ tea, so that they needna come back again. They’re no’ that length yet,” Erchie explained. “I could be daein’ wi’ a gless o’ beer,” said Duffy. And ye can get aifternoon tea here, too.” “Do you think there couldna be a baun’ playin’ withoot dancin’? It’s jist here to cod a lot o’ folk into the notion that they can be cheery enough in a place o’ the kind in spite o’ the pictures. “There’s naebody gaun to ask ye to dance,” said Erchie. “Mind, I’m no’ on for ony dancin’,” Duffy explained.
The band was playing a waltz tune as they entered the Institute. On this point Erchie set him right, and ten minutes later, with a collar whose rough edges rasped his neck and made him unhappy, he was on his way to Sauchiehall Street. “Do ye need a collar for the gallery?” asked Duffy, who thought the Art Institute was a music-hall. Awa’ and put on your collar and I’ll wait here on ye.” I’ll tak’ ye to the Art Institute the minister gied me twa tickets. I’ll tell ye whit I’ll dae wi’ ye if ye’re game. “Whit’s the use o’ gaun to a fitba’ match when ye can see a’ aboot it in the late edeetion? Forbye, a fitba’ match doesna improve the mind it’s only sport.
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I was jist wonderin’ whether I wad buy a ‘Weekly Mail’ or gang to the fitba’ match at Parkheid.”Įrchie looked pityingly at him.
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“She wad see ower mony things in the shop windows she was needin’. Ye should try yer hand at takin’ oot the wife for a walk, jist for the novelty o’ the thing.” “Man, aye!” said Erchie, “that’s the warst o’ Gleska there’s nae life in’t – naethin’ daein’. I micht as weel be leevin’ in the country for a’ the life I see.” “Since I got mairried and stopped gaun to the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults, there’s no’ much choice for a chap. Whaur are ye gaun the day?” said Erchie to Duffy on Saturday afternoon when he came on the worthy coalman standing at his own close-mouth, looking up and down the street with the hesitation of a man who deliberates how he is to make the most of his Saturday half-holiday.