_Mr. Havers_ (_in allusion to the dozen or so of drags, landaus, and waggonettes on the ground_). There's a number o' machines hier the day, Messis MCTARVISH, an' a wonderfu' crood; there'll be a bit scarceness ower on yon side, but a gey many a'thegither. I conseeder we're est awfu' forrtunate in the day an' a'. [Mrs. MCTAVISH _assents, but without enthusiasm_. _Mr. Parritch._ I've jist ben keekin' into the Refraishmen' Tent. It's an awfu' peety they're no pairmeetin' ony intoaxicans--naethin' but non-alcohoalic liquors an' sic like, an' the hawm-sawndwiches no verra tender. (_With gallantry._) What do ye say, noo, Messis MCTARVISH--wull ye no come an' tak' a bite wi' me? _Mrs. McTavish_ (_distantly_). Ah'm no feelin' able for't jist the noo, Mester PAIRRITCH. _Mr. Parr._ Ye'll hae a boatle o' leemonade at my expense? Ye'll no? Then ye wull, Mess RAWSE. (_With relief, as_ Miss ROSE _declines also_.) Aweel, I jist thocht I'd pit the quaistion. (_To a friend of his, who joins them._) An' hoo's a' wi' ye, Mester MCKERROW? Ye're a member o' the Cawmittee, I obsairve, sae I'll hae to keck up a bet row wi' ye. _Mr. McKerrow_ (_unconcernedly_). Then ye'll jist to hae to keck it doon again. What's wrang the noo? _Mr. Parr._ I'd like to ask ye if ye conseeder it fair or jest to charrge us tippence every time we'd go aff the groon? Man, it's jist an extoartion. _Mr. McKerr._ I'm no responsible for 't; but, if _I_'d ben there, I'd ha' chairged ye twa shellins; sae ye'd better say nae mair aboot the maitter. [Mr. PARRITCH _does not pursue the subject_. _Mr. Havers_ (_as a detachment of the Black Watch Highlanders conclude an exhibition of musical drill_). Ye'll be the baiter o' haeing the Block Wetch hier the day. Man, they gie us a colour! It's verra pretty hoo nicely they can pairforrm the drill.... An' noo them sojers is gaun to rin a bet race amang theirsels. This'll be an extry cawmpeteetion, I doot. (_As the race is being run._) It's no a verra suitable dress for rinnin'--the spleughan--or "sporran," is it?--hairrts them tairible. _Mr. McKerr._ (_contradictiously_). The sporran does na hairrt them at a'. _Mr. Havers._ Man, it's knockin' against them at every stride they tak'. (_His attention wanders to a Highland Fling, which three small boys are dancing on a platform opposite._) He's an awfu' bonnie dauncer that wee laddie i' the meddle! _Mr. McKerr._ Na sae awfu' bonnie, he luiks tae much at his taes. Yon on the richt is the laddie o' the lote! he disna move his boady at a'.... This'll be the Half Mile Handicap they're stairting for down yonder. It'll gae to JOCK ALISTER--him in the blue breeks. _Mr. Parr._ Yon grup-luikin' tyke? I canna thenk it. _Mr. Havers._ Na, it'll be yon bald-heided man in broon. He's verra enthusiastic. He's ben rinnin' in a' the races, I obsairve. "SMETH" did ye say his neem was? (_To_ Miss ROSE, _pawkily_.) Ye'll hae an affaictionate regaird for thet neem, I'm thenking, Mess Rawse?