Other snippets of conversation came to me as the wine bit deep and chased away sense and decorum.
'Here's a lark!' I heard the words and thought that Gilbert Elliot spoke them although in the general hubbub I could not be sure. 'We can visit one of the low pubs in Whisky Row and mix with the lower orders.'
There was loud laughter after that, with some of the Volunteer officers drumming their glasses on the table-top until the crockery rattled and the silver wear sang. One gangly, ginger-haired scoundrel was especially demonstrative as he nearly clambered onto the table in his enthusiasm.
'Who is that?' I already guessed the answer.
'The Honourable Hector McAra,' the doctor said. 'The friend of everybody who he might need to advance his connections and a bad enemy for those he dislikes.
