""On whatna charge, Mr. MacTaggart, on whatna charge?" asked the writer, taking a confident, even an insolent, tone, now that he was on his own familiar ground."
""Eh, sirs! eh, sirs!" cried I, "whatna gaits 'that to steer a bodie, wad ye harry a puir chiel o' a 'his warldly gear, shame till ye, shame till ye, shank yoursell's awa.""
"'Please cud ye tell me whatna shop Dave Broonlee works intil?'"