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! [Illustration: "Ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it."] _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. [_The coach starts, and is presently stopped at a corner to take up a male and female passenger, who occupy the seats immediately behind the_ Surly Passenger. _The Female P._ (_enthusiastically, to her companion_). There's dear old Mrs. MACFARLANE, come out to see the last of us! Look at her standing out there in the garden, all in the rain. That's what I always _say_ about the Scotch--they _are_ warm-hearted! [_She waves her hand in farewell to some distant object._ _Her Companion._ _That_ ain't her; that's an old apple-tree in the garden _you_'re waving to. _She_'s keeping in-doors--and shows her sense too. _The Female P._ (_disgusted_). Well, I _do_ think after our being at the farm a fortnight and all, she _might_----But that's Scotch all _over_, that is; get all they _can_ out of you, and then, for anything _they_ care----! _The Surly P._ I don't know whether you are aware of it, Ma'am, but that umbrella of yours is sending a constant trickle down the back of my neck, which is _most_ unpleasant! _The Female P._ I'm sorry to hear it, Sir, but it's no worse for you than it is for me. I've got somebody else's umbrella dripping down _my_ back, and _I_ don't complain. _The Surly P._ I _do_, Ma'am, for, being in front, I haven't even the poor consolation of feeling that my umbrella is a nuisance to anybody. _A Sardonic P._ (_in the rear, politely_). On the contrary, Sir, I find it a most pleasing object to contemplate. Far more picturesque, I don't doubt, than any scenery it may happen to conceal.