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The Highland monthly - National Library of Scotland

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630 1 he Hi(rhland Montkiy<br />

face <strong>of</strong> a corpulent navvy who sat right opposite me. His<br />

fat cheeks wobbled about to every motion like two plates <strong>of</strong><br />

porridge, and the wonder is they didn't fall out.<br />

I felt myself to be an object <strong>of</strong> considerable curiosity. I<br />

was stared at by some fifty pairs <strong>of</strong> eyes as if I were some<br />

new kind <strong>of</strong> animal, or a royal prince. Not a word was<br />

spoken ; words could not be heard in the deafening din<br />

which accompanied our progress. So they simply sat with<br />

their elbows on their knees, and smoked, and glared. I<br />

tried to look comfortable and at home ; but am cognizant<br />

that the effort was a dismal failure. My bright and polished<br />

boots would obtrude themselves, and I felt almost ashamed<br />

<strong>of</strong> them, and tried to keep them out <strong>of</strong> sight. My gloves<br />

I covertly took <strong>of</strong>f, and hid them away in my pocket in a<br />

cowardly way. I tried to look as if my umbrella was a<br />

nuisance, and there purely by accident. My ulster I could<br />

do nothing to ameliorate, so I had to brazen it out, an effort<br />

which nearly failed when the man with the wobbly cheeks<br />

put out his hand and calmly felt the quality <strong>of</strong> it. <strong>The</strong><br />

result <strong>of</strong> his investigation was apparently satisfactory, for he<br />

winked to me confidentially, and with pr<strong>of</strong>ound gravity.<br />

As I have said, I tried to look comfortable, but I failed*<br />

<strong>The</strong> eyes <strong>of</strong> the working class were on me, and I was intrusive<br />

and dandyfied and mean and worthless ; in short, I felt like<br />

a bloated capitalist.<br />

As it was equally possible to see through the windows<br />

as to see through the wooden sides <strong>of</strong> the car, nothing <strong>of</strong><br />

the new line or <strong>of</strong> the scenery could be seen ; and<br />

it was<br />

not until we stopped at the end <strong>of</strong> Loch Treig, where friend<br />

Macdougall said we must change carriages, that I had an<br />

opportunity <strong>of</strong> seeing anything. It was with a thankful<br />

feeling that I greedily filled my lungs with pure air. It<br />

was even more refreshing than a deep, deep draught <strong>of</strong><br />

pure water after an intolerable thirst. It was some time<br />

before I could get enough <strong>of</strong> it, and anything more refresh-<br />

ing or agreeable I have seldom experienced.<br />

However, there was no time for looking at scenery or<br />

anything else, for we had to hurriedly climb over a mass <strong>of</strong>

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