It was a damp and miserable day, the streets were inches deep in slimy mud, the houses all gray and dismal.
No wonder that the hearts of these two boys, accustomed to the green grandeur of forests and crimson-clad Highland hills, sank within them, as they gazed from the windows of their cab.
Was this the beautiful London they had heard tell of and expected to see? Nothing but discomfort and misery met their eyes at first, and when the conveyance stopped now and then, blocked by carts and wagons, they found they could scarcely understand a word of the jargon that fell on their ears from every side.
"Moaning piper!" cried a ragged urchin, shoving a newspaper right under Duncan's nose.
"Yes; he said 'Moaning piper'. There must be something about a battle in it, and a Scotch piper must have been wounded. No wonder he moaned if he was shot through the chest or legs--eh, Duncan?"
"No indeed, that would make anybody moan."
But much to the boys' disgust there was nothing about a battle in the paper, nor about pipers, nor even about soldiers at all. So the newspaper was thrown down, and they contented themselves by looking from the windows at the crowds of people that were hurrying along the pavement, everyone intent only on his own business, and taking not the slightest notice of his neighbour. They had now got into a better part of the town. There were fewer guttersnipes and badly-dressed men and women here, less apparent poverty, in fact, with the exception of the poor, white-faced, hungry-looking girls and women who were selling flowers. During a block one of these came to the window near which Duncan sat, and he made the lassie happy by buying two button-holes, and giving her sixpence for them.
The 'buses were objects of curiosity for our heroes.
The drivers were ideal in their own way, and of a class not to be met with anywhere out of London.
"Oh, Duncan, did ever you see such faces, or such slow-looking men!"
"Faces just like hams, Conal--and, why, they seem to be wearing about twenty coats! So solemn too--I wonder if ever those fellows smiled except over a pint of beer!"
"And look at those huge wooden umbrellas!"
"Yes, that is for fear a drop of rain should fall upon John Guttle, and he should catch cold."