So, after hitting my head violently against a cross-beam, I stumbled down some steps and entered a frowsty little place smelling of spilt beer and stale tobacco.
The promised ham and eggs proved impossible--there were no eggs to be had in Muirtown that night--but I was given cold mutton and a pint of indifferent ale.

There was nobody in the place but two farmers drinking hot whisky and water and discussing with sombre interest the rise in the price of feeding-stuffs.

I ate my supper, and was just preparing to find the whereabouts of my bedroom when through the street door there entered a dozen soldiers.
In a second the quiet place became a babel.

The men were strictly sober; but they were in that temper of friendliness which demands a libation of some kind.

One was prepared to stand treat; he was the leader of the lot, and it was to celebrate the end of his leave that he was entertaining his pals.