No Pride
A DENIZEN of the good city of St. Andrews, long desirous of being
elected deacon of his craft, after many years of scheming and bowing, at
last attained the acme of his ambition, and while the oaths of office
were being administered to him, a number of waggish friends waited
outside to trot him out, but the sequel convinced them this was
unnecessary. On emerging from the City Hall, with thumbs stuck in the
armlets of his vest, with head erect, and solemn step, he approached his
friends, lifting up his voice and saying, Now, billies, supposing
I'm a deacon, mind, I can be spoken to at ony time.