“‘Man!’ I says, ‘ye’ve henned--that’s whit’s wrang wi’ ye: come in jist for the pant; naebody ‘ll touch ye, and ye’ll can come oot if it’s sore.’ “In we goes, Duffy wi’ his kep aff. He gave the wan look roond him, and put his hand in his pooch to feel his money. ‘Mind I have only the three flaffers and a half, Erchie,’ says he. “‘It’ll cost ye nae mair than the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults,’ I tellt him, and we began sclimmin’ the stairs. Between every rail there was a piece o’ gless like the bottom o’ a soda-water bottle, hangin’ on a wire; Duffy touched every yin o’ them for luck. “‘Whit dae ye think o’ that, noo?’ I asked him. “‘It’s gey fancy,’ says Duffy; ‘will we be lang?’ “‘Ye puir ignorant cratur!’ I says, losin’ my patience a’thegither, ‘ye havena a mind in the dietin’ line above a sate on the trams o’ a lorry wi’ a can o’ soup in your hand.’ “I may tell ye I was a wee bit put aboot mysel’, though I’m a waiter by tred, and seen mony a dydo in my time. There was naething in the hale place was the way I was accustomed to; the very snecks o’ the doors were kind o’ contrairy. “‘This way for the threepeny cups and the guid bargains,’ says I to Duffy, and I lands him into whit they ca’ the Room de Looks. Maybe ye havena seen the Room de Looks; it’s the colour o’ a goon Jinnet used to hae afore we mairried: there’s whit Jinnet ca’s insertion on the table-cloths, and wee beads stitched a’ owre the wa’s the same as if somebody had done it themsel’s. The chairs is no’ like ony ither chairs ever I clapped eyes on, but ye could easy guess they were chairs; and a’ roond the place there’s a lump o’ lookin’-gless wi’ purple leeks pented on it every noo and then. The gasalier in the middle was the thing that stunned me. It’s hung a’ roond wi’ hunners o’ big gless bools, the size o’ yer nief--but ye don’t get pappin’ onything at them. “Duffy could only speak in whispers. ‘My jove!’ says he, ‘ye’ll no’ get smokin’ here, I’ll bate.’ “‘Smokin’!’ says I; ‘ye micht as weel talk o’ gowfin’.’ “‘I never in a’ my life saw the like o’t afore. This cows a’!’ says he, quite nervous and frich-teried lookin’.’ “‘Och!’ says I, ‘it’s no’ your fau’t; you didna dae’t onyway. Sit doon.’ “There was a wheen lassies wi’ white frocks and tippets on for waitresses, and every yin o’ them wi’ a string of big red beads roond her neck. “‘Ye’ll notice, Duffy,’ says I, ‘that though ye canna get ony drink here, ye can tak’ a fine bead onyway,’ but he didna see my joke. “Chaps me no’!’ says he. ‘Whit did ye say the name o’ this room was?’ “‘The Room de books,’ I tellt him. “‘It’ll likely be the Room de Good Looks,’ says he, lookin’ at the waitress that cam’ for oor order. ‘I’m for a pie and a bottle o’ Broon Robin.’