How We Got Up the Glenmutchkin Railway and how We Got out of It

“But where in the face of the habitable globe shall the railway be? England is out of the question, and I hardly know of a spot in the Lowlands that is not occupied already.”

“What do you say to a Spanish scheme—the Alcantara Union? Hang me if I know whether Alcantara is in Spain or Portugal; but nobody else does, and the one is quite as good as the other. Or what would you think of the Palermo Railway, with a branch to the sulphur mines?—that would be popular in the North—or the Pyrenees Direct? They would all go to a premium.”

“I must confess I should prefer a line at home.”

“Well, then, why not try the Highlands? There must be lots of traffic there in the shape of sheep, grouse, and Cockney tourists, not to mention salmon and other et-ceteras. Couldn’t we tip them a railway somewhere in the west?”

“There’s Glenmutchkin, for instance—”

“Capital, my dear fellow! Glorious? By Jove, first-rate!” shouted Bob in an ecstasy of delight. “Theres a distillery there, you know, and a fishing-village at the foot-at least there used to be six years ago, when I was living with the exciseman. There may be some bother about the population, though. The last laird shipped every mother’s son of the aboriginal Celts to America; but, after all, that’s not of much consequence. I see the whole thing! Unrivalled scenery-stupendous waterfalls—herds of black cattle—spot where Prince Charles Edward met Macgrugar of Glengrugar and his clan! We could not possibly have lighted on a more promising place. Hand us over that sheet of paper, like a good fellow, and a pen. There is no time to be lost, and the sooner we get out the prospectus the better.”

“But, heaven bless you, Bob, there’s a great deal to be thought of first. Who are we to get for a provisional committee?”

“That’s very true,” said Bob, musingly. “We must treat them to some respectable names, that is, good sounding ones. I’m afraid there is little chance of our producing a Peer to begin with?”

“None whatever—-unless we could invent one, and that’s hardly safe—Burke’s Peerage has gone through too many editions. Couldn’t we try the Dormants?”

“That would be rather dangerous in the teeth of the standing orders. But what do you say to a baronet? There’s Sir Polloxfen Tremens. He got himself served the other day to a Nova Scotia baronetcy, with just as much title as you or I have; and he has sported the riband, and dined out on the strength of it ever since. He’ll join us at once, for he has not a sixpence to lose.”

“Down with him, then,” and we headed the Provisional list with the pseudo Orange-tawny.

“Now,” said Bob, “it’s quite indispensable, as this is a Highland line, that we should put forward a Chief or two. That has always a great effect upon the English, whose feudal notions are rather of the mistiest, and principally derived from Waverley.”

“Why not write yourself down as the Laird of MCorkindale?” said I. “I daresay you would not be negatived by a counterclaim.”