A PERTHSHIRE GLEN 211 



political discussion took place in which my eldest 

 brother took an active part, expressing finally his 

 view that the Marquis of Hartington was the man 

 for his money. Upon which Don Malloch, who 

 appeared at the time, with eyes shut, to be obli- 

 vious of all that was taking place, immediately 

 sprang up, exclaiming as he did so, " Hartington ! 

 Why, indeed, sir, but that's my maan ! " And the 

 pair shook each other heartily by the hand. But 

 even the good understanding caused by such reci- 

 procity of political convictions did not cause this 

 staunch servant to deviate from what he considered 

 to be his line of duty. 



A second political discussion is here brought, 

 parenthetically, to my mind, of a different type, but 

 characteristic of a certain side of the Scottish char- 

 acter, overheard in another hotel smoking-room at 

 the Loch Tay end of Glendochart. 



Seated at the table were two farmers, the only 

 sound to be heard in the room being the puffing 

 of their pipes or the occasional gurgle of whisky 

 as it found its way down one or other of their 

 parched throats. Presently farmer number one 

 drew a deep breath, ejaculating, "Ay!" followed 

 by another spell of complete silence. 



