"It's precious few briefs I get, or it would be more pleasant.

I wish more of 'em would come in, my dear, to pay for those children's shoes.

They've worn out half-a-dozen pairs apiece, I believe, since they've been down here!" "Better a shoemaker's bill," said Mrs Gilmour, "than a doctor's, sure, me dear Dugald." "Aye, by Jove!" put in the Captain with a chuckle.

"There's nothing like leather, you know." "By the way, talking of that, though I don't mean to say it's made like the old Britons' coracles," observed Mrs Gilmour silly, "when is that yacht of yours going to be ready, Captain ?" This unexpected inquiry made the old sailor blush a rosy red, for his face was turned westwards towards the setting sun, and all could see it plainly; albeit, he tried to conceal his perturbation by drawing out his brilliant bandana handkerchief and blowing his nose vigorously--an old trick of his.
"I--I--I'm having her done up," he at length stammered out.

"She wanted a lot of repair." "So I should think," rejoined his persecutor, turning round to the others.