_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 that neem, I'm thenking, Mess Rawse?
_Miss Rose (with maidenly displeasure)._ 'Deed, an I'm no unnerstanding why ye should thenk ony sic a thing!
_Mr. Havers (abashed)._ I beg your pairrdon. I don't know hoo it was I gethered Smeth was your ain neem. (_Miss Rose shakes her head._) No? Then maybe ye'll be acquaint with a Mester Alexawnder Smeth fro' Paisley? (_Miss Rose is not, nor apparently desires to be, and Mr. Havers returns to the foot-race._) The baldheid's leadin' them a', I tellt ye he'd----Na, he's gien up! it'll be the little block fellow, he's peckin' up tairible!
_Mr. Parr._ 'Twull no be him. Yon lang chap has an easy jobe o't. Ye'll see he'll jist putt a spairrt on at yon faur poast--he's comin' on noo--he's.... Losh! he's only thirrd after a'; he didna putt the spairrt on sune eneugh; that was the gran' fau't he made!
_Mr. Havers._ They'll be begenning the wrustling oot yon in the centre....(_As the competitors grip._) Losh! that's no the way to wrustle; they shouldna left the ither up; they're no allowed to threp!
_Mr. McKerr._ That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething at a' aboot it!
[Illustration: "That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething at a' aboot it!"]
_Mr. Havers._ I'd sthruggle baiter'n that mysel', it's no great wrustling at a', merely bairrns' play!
_Mr. McKerr (as a corpulent elderly gentleman appears, in very pink tights)._ Ye'll see some science noo, for hier's McBannock o' Balwhuskie, the chawmpion.