It's a guid thing we hae met, or we'd baith hae
been unhappy."
So the hours passed, and each newcomer was invited to join the company,
until it grew so large that the "big room" was requisitioned, and it
soon held a laughing, joking, drinking, good-natured set of as drouthy
individuals as ever met together in company. Every worthy for miles
around seemed to get the news of the free drinks, and whisky and beer
flowed like water, and the company grew more and more cheerful and
happy.
Bottle after bottle of drink was consumed, and as the company got
hilarious, a song was sung or a story was told, until the whole place
had the air of a fair day about it.
Jock spent his money freely, and his company drank his health as freely
as he paid for the drinks. So the merry hours went past, and the
darkness came on. Yet for all the whisky that Walker consumed, he never
seemed to get drunk. He was certainly a bit intoxicated, but was in that
condition described by one of the company next day as being "sensibly
drunk."
"Come on, damn you, you son of a tinkler," he urged. "Drink up, an' let
us mak' a nicht o't," and thus urged they drained their glasses, and had
them refilled again and again.
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