“He cam’ oot feelin’ fine. ‘The Second City o’ the Empire!’ he says. ‘I can weel believ’t. If it wasna for my business bein’ in London I wad hae a hoose here. Whit am I to dae next?’ “They took his Majesty doon Buchanan Street. “‘No bad!’ says he. “Then he cam’ to Argyle Street, and gaed west, past the Hielan’man’s Cross at the heid o’ Jamaica Street. He sees a lot o’ chaps there wi’ the heather stickin’ oot o’ their ears, and a tartan brogue that thick it nearly spiled the procession. “‘The Hielan’man’s Cross,’ says he; ‘man, ay! I’ve heard o’t. Kamerhashendoo. If I had thocht o’t I wad hae brocht my kilts and my pibroch and a’ that.’ “A’ the wey doon the Dumbarton Road the folk were fair hingin’ oot o’ their windows, wavin’ onything at a’ they could get a haud o’, and the Royal carriage was bump-bump-bumpin’ like a’ that ower the granite setts. “‘Whit’s wrang wi’ the streets o’ Gleska?’ says the King, him bein’ used to wud streets in London, whaur he works.’ “‘It’s granite, if ye please,’ says they. “‘Oh ay!’ says the King; ‘man, it mak’s a fine noise. Will we soon be there? I’ like this fine, but I wadna like to keep onybody waitin’.’ “At Finnieston the folk cam’ up frae the side streets and fair grat wi’ patriotic fervour. For-bye, a’ the pubs were shut for an’oor or twa. “‘Whit I want to see’s the poor,’ says the King. ‘I’m tired lookin’ at the folk that’s weel aff; they’re faur ower common.’ “‘Them’s the poor,’ he was tellt; ‘it’s the best we can dae for your Majesty.’ “‘But they’re awfu’ bien-lookin’ and weel put on,’ says he. “‘Oh ay!’ they tells him, ‘that’s their Sunday claes.’” “And so the Royal procession passed on its way, the King being supplied wi’ a new hat every, ten minutes, to mak’ up for the yins he spiled liftin’ them to his frantic and patriotic subjects. “In ten to fifteen minutes he examined the pictures in the Art Galleries--the Dutch, the English, the Italian, and the Gleska schools o’ painters; the stuffed birds, and the sugaraully hats the polis used to hae when you and me was jinkin’ them. “‘Och, it’s fine,’ says he; ‘there’s naething wrang wi’ the place. Are we no’ near Maryhill noo?’ “Ye see his Majesty had on a bate he could see the hale o’ Gleska in five ‘oors or less, an’ be oot sooner nor ony ither king that ever set a fit in it. They wanted him to mak’ a circular tour o’t, and come back to the Municeepal Buildin’s for his tea. “‘Catch me,’ says he. ‘I’m gaun back to Dalkeith.’ “A’ this time we were standin’ on Duffy’s lorry, flanked on the left by the Boy’s Brigade, lookin’ awfu’ fierce, and the riflemen frae Dunoon on the richt. Every noo an’ then a sodger went bye on a horse, or a lassie nearly fainted and had to be led alang the line by a polisman, and him no’ awfu’ carin’ for the job. Duffy was gaun up the street to buy broon robin that aften he was gettin’ sunburnt, and my wife Jinnet nearly hurt her een lookin’ for weans.