My Man Sandy
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J. B. Salmond >> My Man Sandy
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8 [Frontispiece: Cover Art--Sandy]
MY MAN SANDY
BY
J. B. SALMOND
SIXTH EDITION
SANDS & CO.
EDINBURGH: 37 GEORGE STREET
LONDON: 15 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN
1919
PREFACE.
These sketches are taken from a series written originally for newspaper
purposes. Revision of them has made their author keenly conscious of
their defects; but Bawbie and Sandy are characters who might be
completely spoiled by improvement. The sketches are therefore
presented as they were hastily "rubbed-in" for serial publication.
The "foo," "far," "fat," and "fan" of the Angus dialect have been
changed into the more classic "hoo," "whaur," &c.; otherwise the
sketches remain in the form in which they have gained quite an
unexpected popularity amongst Scottish readers both at home and abroad.
ARBROATH, N.B.,
_April, 1889._
CONTENTS.
I. SANDY SWAPS HIS POWNEY
II. SANDY STARTS TO STUDY GEOMETRY
III. SANDY AND THE DINNER BELL
IV. A TALK ABOUT HEAVEN
V. MISTRESS MIKAVER'S TEA PARTY
VI. SANDY'S SECOND LESSON IN GEOMETRY
VII. SANDY'S MAGIC LANTERN EXHIBITION
VIII. SANDY AND THE RHUBARB TART
IX. THE GREAT STORM OF NOVEMBER, 1893
X. SANDY AND HIS FAIRNTICKLES
XI. SANDY STANDS "EMPIRE" AT A CRICKET MATCH
XII. A DREADFUL DISASTER IN THE GARRET
XIII. SANDY AND BAWBIE'S SPRING HOLIDAY
XIV. LOVE AND WAR
XV. SANDY MAKES A SPEECH
XVI. SANDY'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT
XVII. AT THE SELECT CHOIR'S CONCERT
XVIII. SANDY RUNS A RACE
XIX. SANDY REVENGED
XX. SANDY'S APOLOGIA
MY MAN SANDY.
I
SANDY SWAPS HIS POWNEY.
He's a queer cratur, my man Sandy! He's made, mind an' body o' him, on
an original plan a'thegither. He says an' does a' mortal thing on a
system o' his ain; Gairner Winton often says that if Sandy had been in
the market-gardenin' line, he wudda grown his cabbage wi' the stocks
aneth the ground, juist to lat them get the fresh air aboot their
ruits. It's juist his wey, you see. I wudna winder to see him some
day wi' Donal' yokit i' the tattie-cairt wi' his heid ower the fore-end
o't, an' the hurdles o' him whaur his heid shud be. I've heard Sandy
say that he had an idea that a horse cud shuve far better than poo; an'
when Sandy ance gets an idea intil his heid, there's some beast or body
has to suffer for't afore he gets redd o't. If there's a crank wey o'
doin' onything Sandy will find it oot. For years he reg'larly flang
the stable key ower the gate efter he'd brocht oot Donal' an' the
cairt. When he landit hame again, he climbed the gate for the key, an'
syne climbed ower again an' opened it frae the ootside. He michta
carried the key in his pooch; but onybody cudda dune that! But, as I
was sayin', it's juist his wey.
"It's juist the shape original sin's ta'en in Sandy's case," the
Gairner said when the Smith an' him were discussin' the subject.
"I dinna ken aboot the sin; but it's original eneuch, there's nae doot
aboot that," said the Smith.
There's naebody kens that better than me, for I've haen the teuch end
o' forty year o't. But, still an' on, he's my ain man, the only ane
ever I had, an' I'll stick up for him, an' till him, while the lamp
holds on to burn, as the Psalmist says.
* * * * * *
"See if I can say my geog, Bawbie," said Nathan to me the ither
forenicht, as I was stanin' in the shop. He'd been sittin' ben the
hoose wi' his book croonin' awa' till himsel' aboot Rooshya bein'
boundit on the north by the White Sea, an' on the sooth by the Black
Sea, an' some ither wey by the Tooral-ooral mountains or something, an'
he cam' ben an' handed me his geog, as he ca'd it, to see if he had a'
this palaver on his tongue.
I've often windered what was the use o' Nathan wirryin' ower thae
oot-o'-the-wey places that he wud never be within a thoosand mile o'.
He kens a' the oots an' ins o' Valiparaiso, but michty little aboot
Bowriefauld. Hooever, I suppose the dominie kens best.
Nathan was juist busy pointin' oot the place to me in his book when
there was a terriple rattlin' oot on the street, an' aff he hookited to
see what was ado. He thocht it was a marriage, an' that there micht be
a chance o' some heys aboot the doors. What was my consternation when
the reeshlin' an' rattlin' stoppit at the shop door, an' I heard
Sandy's voice roarin', "Way-wo, haud still, wo man, wo-o-o, will ye!"
"What i' the face o' the earth's ado noo?" says I to mysel'; an' I goes
my wa's to the door. Sandy had been up at Munromont for a load o'
tatties. When I gaed to the door, here he was wi' a thing atween the
shafts o' his cairt that lookit like's it had been struck wi' forkit
lichtnin'.
"What hae ye dune wi' Donal', Sandy?" I speered.
"Cadger Gowans an' me's haen a swap," says Sandy, climbin' oot at the
back o' the cairt, an' jookin' awa' roond canny-weys to the horse's
heid.
"Wo, Princie," he says, pettin' oot his hand. "Wo, the bonnie laddie!"
Princie, as he ca'd him, ga'e a gley roond wi' the white o' his e'e
that garred Sandy keep a gude yaird clear o' him.
"He's a grand beast," he says, comin' roond to my side; "a grand beast!
Three-quarters bred, an' soond in wind and lim'. I got a terriple
bargain o' him. I ga'e Gowans Donal' an' thirty shillin's, an' he ga'e
me a he tortyshall kitlin' to the bute--the only ane i' the
countryside. He's genna hand it in the morn."
There was nae want o' soond in Princie's wind at ony rate. I saw that
in a minute. He was whistlin' like a lerik.
"He sooks wind a little when he has a lang rin," says Sandy; "but
that's nether here nor there. He's haen a teenge or twa, an' he's
akinda foondered afore, an' a little spavie i' the aft hent leg; but
I'll shune pet that a' richt wi' gude guidin'. He's a grand beast, I
tell ye!"
Sandy stood an' lookit first up at the horse an' then doon at his
cairt. "He's gey high for the wheels," he says; "but, man, he's a
grand beast. He cam hame frae Glesterlaw juist like a bird. Never
turned a hair. He's a grand beast."
"Hoo mony legs has he, Sandy?" says I, lookin' at the great, big,
ravelled-lookin' brute. He was a' twisted here and there, an' the legs
o' him lookit for a' the world juiat like bits o' crunckled water-hose.
The cairt appeared to be haudin' him up, raither than him haudin' up
the cairt; an' he was restin' the thrawn legs o' him time aboot, juist
like a cock stanin' amon' snaw. "Ye shudda left that billie at the
knackers at Glesterlaw, Sandy," says I, I says. "I'm dootin' ye'll
ha'e back to tak' him there afore him or you's muckle aulder."
"Tyach! Haud your lang tongue," says Sandy. "Speak aboot things ye
ken something aboot. Wait till the morn. Ye'll see I'll get roond my
roonds an' a' my tatties delivered in half the time. I'll ha'e rid o'
a' my tatties an' be hame gin ane o'clock, instead o' dotterin' awa'
wi' a lazy brute like Donal'. I'll beat ye onything ye like, Gowans
'ill be ruin' his bargain gin this time; but he'll no' get him back
noo. I'll go an' see an' get Princie stabled."
Sandy gaed inby to the shafts, but he sprang back when Princie ga'e a
squeek an' garred his heels play tnack on the boddom o' the cairt.
"That's the breedin'," says Sandy, gaen awa' roond to the ither side o'
the cairt.
"It soonded to me like the boddom o' the cairt, as far as I cud hear,"
says I, I says; but Sandy never lut on.
The brute had a nesty e'e in its heid. It turned roond wi' a
vegabon'-like look aye when Sandy gaed near't. He got up on the front
efter a while, an' ga'e the reinds a tit, an' Princie began to do a bit
jeeg, garrin' Sandy bowse aboot on the front o' the cairt like's he was
foo. Sandy ga'e him a clap on the hurdles to quieten him, but aye the
hent feet o' him played skelp on the boddom o' the cairt, till I thocht
he wudda haen't ca'd a' to bits. Syne awa' he gaed full bung a' o' a
sudden, wi' Sandy rowin' aboot amon' the tatties, an' hingin' in by the
reinds, roarin', "Wo! haud still," an' so on. Gin he got to the fit o'
the street there was a dozen laddies efter him; screamin', "Come on you
lads, an' see Sandy Bowden's drumadairy. By crivens, he's gotten a
richt horse for Donal', noo."
Sandy didna come up frae the stable till near-hand eleven o'clock, an'
I didna say ony mair aboot his braw horse. I've heard the minister
say, it's the unexpectit that happens. That's aye the way wi' Sandy, I
can tell you. I aye expect that something will happen wi' him that I'm
no' expectin'; so I find it best juist to lat him aleen.
Next mornin' he gaed awa' gey early to get yokit, an' he took Bandy
Wobster wi' him to gi'e him a hand. It was twa strucken 'oors afore he
got to the shop door wi' the cairt, an' baith him an' the horse were
sweitin' afore they startit on his roonds. Sandy was lookin' gey
raised like, so I lut him get on a' his tatties an' said naething.
Stumpie Mertin cam' by, an', lookin' at Princie, gae his heid a claw.
"What are ye stanin' glowerin' at?" says Sandy till him, gey snappit
like.
"Whaur did ye get that hunger'd-lookin' radger, Sandy?" says he. "That
beast's no' fit for gaen aboot. The Cruelty to Animals 'ill nip you,
as shure's you're a livin' man."
"Tak' care 'at they dinna nip you, for haein' a wid leg," says Sandy,
as raised as a wasp. "Awa' oot o' that, an' mind your ain bisness."
"That's been stealt oot ahent some menagerie caravan," says Stumpie;
an' awa' he gaed dilpin' like's he'd made a grand joke.
The policeman cam' doon an' settled himsel' aboot ten yairds awa' frae
Princie, put his hands ahent his back, set forrit his heid like's he
was gaen awa' to putt somebody, an' took a lang look at him. "That's a
clinker, Sandy," says he. "That billie 'ill cover the grund."
I didna ken whether the bobbie meant rinnin' ower the grund, or
coverin't efter he was turned into gooana or bane-dust; but I saw the
lauch in his sleeve a' the same.
Gairner Winton cam' doon the street at the same time, an' the bobby an'
him startit to remark aboot Sandy's horse.
"A gude beast, nae doot," says the Gairner; "but Sandy's been gey lang
o' buyin' him.'
"He's bocht him gey sune, I'm thinking," says the policeman. "Gin he'd
waited a fortnicht, he'd gotten him at twintypence the hunderwecht."
Sandy never lut dab 'at he heard them. The cairt was a' ready an'
Sandy got up on the front and startit. A' gaed richt till he got to
the Loan, when Princie startit to trot. The rattlin' o' the scales at
the back o' the cairt fleggit him, an' aff he set at full tear, the
lang skranky legs o' him wallopin' about like torn cloots atween him
an' the grund. A gude curn wives were oot waitin' their tatties, an'
they roared to Sandy to stop; but Sandy cudna. The tatties were
fleein' ower the back door o' the cairt, an' the scales were rattlin'
an' reeshlin' like an earthquake; an' there was Sandy, bare-heided, up
to the knees amon' his tatties, ruggin' an' roarin', like the skipper
o' some schooner that was rinnin' on the rocks. I'll swear, Sandy got
roond his roonds an' a' his tatties delivered in less than half the
time Donal' took! The wives an' laddies were gaitherin' up the tatties
a' the wey to Tutties Nook; and gin Sandy got to the milestane his
cairt was tume. By this time Princie was fair puffed out, an' he
drappit i' the middle o' the road, Sandy gaen catma ower the tap o' him.
Donal's back till his auld job! Sandy lost thirty shillin's an' a
cairt-load o' tatties ower the heid o' Princie; an' as for the he
tortyshall kitlin', I've never heard nor seen hint nor hair o't.
II.
SANDY STARTS TO STUDY GEOMETRY.
"Man, Bawbie, I think I'll see an' get into the Toon Cooncil some o'
thae days," says Sandy to me the ither forenicht. "Me an' some o' the
rest o' the chaps have been haein' a bit o' an argeyment i' the
washin'-house this nicht or twa back, an' I tell you, I can gabble awa'
aboot public questions as weel's some o' them i' the Cooncil. I ga'e
them a bit screed on the watter question on Setarday nicht that garred
them a' gape; an' Dauvit Kenawee said there an' then that I shud see
an' get a haud o' the Ward Committee an' get a chance o' pettin' my
views afore them. They a' said I was a born spowter, an' that wi' a
little practice I cud speechify the half o' the Cooncil oot at the
door."
I hit Sandy blether awa' for a whilie, an' syne I strikes in, "Ay,
juist that, Sandy; but you'll mibby g'wa' an' get that tume saft soap
barrel scraipit oot, an' the wechts gi'en a black lead; an' we'll hear
aboot the Toon Cooncil efter your wark's dune."
"Oh, but I'll manish that, Bawbie," says he, gey snappish-like; "but
still a man wi' brains in's heid canna juist be setisfeed wi' saft soap
an' black lead a'thegither."
"Ow weel," says I, "you wud mibby fa' in wi' a fell lot o' baith o'
them, even i' the Toon Cooncil. When you're wantin' a favour, a little
saft soap--altho' it's only scraipins--is sometimes a very handy thing
to hae; an' if you dinna get what you want, you can pet on the black
lead syne. There's a fell lot o' that kind o' thing gaen on, an' nae
mistak'. There's Beylie Thingymabob, for instance--but, of coorse,
that's no' the point----"
"What I was sayin'," brock in Sandy, "was that when a man's heid's fu'
o' brains, an' them wirkin' juist like barm, he maun hae some
occupation for his intelleck, or his facilties 'ill gie wey. There's
Bandy Wobster, for instance, tak's up his heid wi' gomitry an'
triangles an' siclike, juist 'cause he has some brains in his heid, an'
maun occupy them; an' what for no' me as weel?"
"Gomitry an' triangles!" says I. "Ye'll mibby be for into the flute
band next, are ye? Weel, I'll tell you this--I ken naething aboot the
gomitry, or what like a thing it is; but if you bring ony o' your
triangles here, wi' there ping ping-pinkey-pingin', I'll pet them doon
the syre; that's what I'll do. I like music o' near ony kind. I can
pet up wi' the melodian or the concertina; but yon triangle thing I
wudna hae i' the hoose. You can tell Bandy Wobster he can keep his
triangles for his parrots swingin' on. We want neen o' them here."
"Tut, Bawbie, 'oman," says Sandy, "you're juist haiverin' straucht
forrit. It's no' flute band triangles I mean ava. It's the anes you
see in books--a' shapes an' sizes, ye know. Bandy learned a' aboot
them when he was at the sea. Sailors learn aboot them for measurin'
hoo far onywey is frae ony ither wey, d'ye know, d'ye see? Bandy tells
me that gomitry--that's what they ca' the book fu' o' triangles--is a
grand thing for learnin' you to speak; an' he offered to gi'e me a
lesson or twa."
"That'll be whaur Bandy gets a' his gab," says I. "I think, Sandy," I
says, says I, "that you've mair need to learn something to garr you
haud your tongue. You've nae need for learnin' to speak, weel-a-wat,
excep' it be to speak sense; an' I dinna suppose gomitry 'ill do you
ony guid that wey. It's made but a puir job o' Bandy Wobster, at
onyrate."
"That's a' you ken, Bawbie," says Sandy. "There's mair in Bandy than
the spune pets in; mind I'm tellin' you. He was tellin's aboot some o'
the exyems in gomitry lest nicht, an', I'll swag, he garred Cocky
Baxter, the auld dominie, chowl his chafts."
"Exyems!" says I. "Is that the same as exy-oey we used to play at on
oor sklates at the skule?"
"No, no, no, no, no," says Sandy. "What are you haiverin' aboot,
Bawbie? It's a different kind o' thing a'thegither. The first exyem
is that onything that's equal to the same thing as ony ither thing, is
equal to the thing that's equal to the thing to which the ither thing's
equal, d'ye know, d'ye see?"
"By faigs, Sandy," says I, "that's waur than exy-oey yet. What was't
you said?"
"It's as plain as twice-twa's fower, Bawbie, if you juist watch," says
Sandy. "If ae thing is equal till anither thing, an' the ither thing's
equal to some ither thing that's equal to the thing that the first
thing's equal till, then you can easy see that the ae thing 'ill be
equal to the ither, as weel as to the ither thing that they're baith
equal till."
I thocht Sandy was raley gettin' akinda lichtwecht, d'ye ken, for I cud
nether mak' heid nor tail o' his confused blethers.
"Keep me, Bawbie, do you no' see through't?" he says, glowerin' at me
wi' a queer-like look in his e'e. "Gie's three bawbees! Look now;
there's thae three bawbees. Weel than, here's twa here, an' there's
ane there. Noo, this ane here is equal to that ane there, an' this
ither ane here is equal to that ane there too; so that, when they're
baith equal to that ane, the teen maun be equal to the tither. A blind
bat cud see that wi' its een shut."
Sandy set himsel' up like's he'd pey'd a big account or something, an',
gien his heid a gey impident cock to the tae side, he says, "D'ye no'
see't?"
"See't?" says I, I says. "What wud bender's frae seein't? An' is
that what gomitry learns you?" says I.
"It is that," says Sandy. "That's the first exyem."
"Weel," says I, "it tak's a michty lang road to tell you what ony
three-'ear-auld bairn in the G-O goes cud tell you in a jiffy."
"Ah, but it's the mental dreel that's the vailable thing," says Sandy.
"It learns you to argey, d'ye no' see? If I had a glisk at gomitry for
a nicht or twa, an' got a puckle triangles an' parilelly grams into my
heid, I'll be fit to gie a scrieve on the watter question, or the
scaffies' wadges, that'll garr some o' oor Toon Cooncillers crook their
moos. Wait till you see!"
"Ay, Sandy," says I, "you'll go an' get the swine suppered an' your
ither jobs dune, an', gin ten o'clock were here, you'll get a coo's
drink, wi' plenty o' pepper in't, an' get to your bed. Thae
washin'-hoose argeymints are affectin' your nervous system, I'm
dootin'. Rin, noo, an' see an' stick in."
I raley thocht, mind you, the wey the cratur was haiverin', that he
wantit tippence i' the shillin'.
"I wad juist like you to hear ane o' oor debates, an' you'd cheenge
your opinion," says Sandy. "Bandy promised to tell's something the
morn's nicht aboot the postylate in gomitry. I juist wiss you heard
him."
"What wud there be to hear aboot that?" says I. "Oor ane's juist the
very same; he's near-hand aye late."
"Wha?" says Sandy, wi' a winderin' look in his e'e.
"Oor postie!" says I; "he's aye late. You'll of'en hear his whistle i'
the street when it's efter ten o'clock at nicht."
Sandy gaed shauchlin' oot at the door, chuck-chuck-chuckin' awa' till
himsel' like a clockin' hen, an' I didna see hint nor hair o' him for
mair than twa 'oors efter. But what cud ye expeck? That's juist aye
the wey o' thae men when they get the warst o't.
III.
SANDY AND THE DINNER BELL,
Crack aboot holidays! I tell you, I'd raither do a day's washin' an'
cleaning', ay, an' do the ironin' an' manglin' efter that, than face
anither holiday like what Sandy an' me had this week. Holiday! It's a
winder there wasna a special excursion comin' hame wi' Sandy's bur'al.
If that man's no' killed afore lang, he'll be gettin' in amon' thae
anarkist billies or something. I tell you he's fit eneuch for onything.
We took the cheap trip to Edinboro, juist to hae a bit look round the
metrolopis, as Sandy ca'd it to the fowk i' the train. He garred me
start twa-three times sayin't; I thocht he'd swallowed his pipe-shank,
he gae sic a babble.
We wasna weel startit afore he begude wi' his nonsense. There was a
young bit kimmerie an' a bairnie i' the carriage, an' the craturie grat
like onything. "I winder what I'll do wi' this bairn?" said the
lassie; an' Sandy, in the middle o' argeyin' wi' anither ass o' a man
that the Arbroath cricketers cud lick the best club i' the country,
says, rale impident like to the lassie, "Shuve't in ablo the seat."
"You hertless vegabon," says I; "think shame o' yoursel! Gie me the
bairnie," says I; an' I got the craturie cowshined an' quieted.
There was nae mair nonsense till we cam till a station in Fife wi' an'
awfu'-like name. I canna mind what it was, an' never will, I suppose.
The stationmester had an awfu' reed nose--most terriple.
"Is the strawberries a gude crap roond aboot here?" said Sandy till
him, out at the winda; an' you never heard what lauchin' as there was
on the pletform. The stationmester's face got as reed's his nose, an'
he ca'd Sandy for a' the impident whaups that ever travelled.
Sal, Sandy stack up till him, though; an' when the train moved awa' the
fowk hurrehed like's it had been a royal marriage. The stationmester
didna hurreh ony.
Gaen ower the Forth Brig I thocht twa-three times Sandy wud be oot at
the window heid-lang. I was juist in a fivver wi' him an' his ongaens.
Hooever, we landit a' richt in Edinboro. An' what a day! I thocht
when we got to a temperance hotel at nicht that I had a chance o' an
'oor's peace. But haud your tongue! Weesht! I'll juist gie you the
thick o' the story clean aff luif.
It was a rale comfortable-lookin' hoose, and we got a nice
clean-lookin' bedroom, an' efter a'thing was arranged, Sandy an' me
gaed awa' doon as far as Holyrood, whaur Queen Mary got ane o' her
fiddlers killed, an' whaur John Knox redd her up for carryin' on like a
pagan linkie instead o' the Queen o' Scotland. Weel, it was gey late
when we got back to oor hotel, an' we juist had a bit snack o' supper,
an' up the stair we gaed. We were three stairs up. We had a seat, an'
a crack an' a look oot at the winda, for we saw a lang wey ower the
toun, an' it was bonnie to watch the lichts twinklin' an' to hear the
soonds.
Twal o'clock chappit, an' we thocht it was time we were beddit. I was
anower, an' Sandy was juist a' ready, when he cudna fa' in wi' his
nichtkep. It was in a handbag o' Sandy's, and he had left it doon in
the lobby. Sandy canna sleep without his nichtkep--no' him!
"What am I genna do?" says Sandy. He was in his lang white nichtgoon,
and he gaed to the room door an' opened it. He lookit oot, but a'thing
was as quiet's death.
"I'll rin doon for't," says he; "a'body's beddit. I'll juist rin doon,
an' I'll bring up my umberell an' my hat at the same time, for fear
they micht be liftit. You never can tell."
Awa' doou the stairs he gaed in his lang nichtgoon, for a' the earth
juist like some corp escapit frae the kirkyaird. He wasna a meenit oot
when I dreedit something wud happen, an' I juist sat up tremblin' in
the bed.
Sandy got doon to the lobby a' richt; an' a'thing was dark, an' as
still's the grave. He scrammilt aboot till he got the bag; syne he
fand for his lum hat, an' put it on his heid. He got his umberell in
his oxter, an' the bag in his hand, an' then he fand roond juist to see
if there was naething else he had forgotten. By ill-fortune he cam' on
the handle o' the denner bell, an' liftin't, it ga'e a creesh an' a
clang that knokit a' the sense oot o' Sandy's heid, and wauken'd half
the fowk i' the hoose. Sandy took till his heels up the stair; an' a
gey like picture he was, wi' his lang, white sark-tails fleein' i' the
air, a lum hat on his heid, an umberell in his oxter, the bag in ae
hand, an' the denner bell i' the ither, bangin' an' clangin' at ilky
jump. It wudda frichten'd the very deevil himsel'. The stupid auld
fule had gotten that doited that he cam' fleein' awa' wi' the bell in
his hand.
There was a cry o' fire, and a scream o' murder, an' in half a meenit
the hotel was as busy as gin it had been broad daylicht. Sandy forgot
hoo mony stairs he had to clim', and he gaed bang in on an auld sea
captain an' his wife, in the room below oors. It fair paralised baith
o' them, when they saw Sandy comin' burst in on them wi' his black
tile, his white goon, his umberell an' bag, an' the denner bell.
"P'leece, p'leece," roared the captain an' his wife--an' Sandy oot at
the door. Awa' alang a passage he gaed, fleein' like a huntit tod. I
heard him as gin he'd been doon in the very bowels o' the earth cryin',
"Bawbie, Bawbie! Oh, whaur are ye, Bawbie?"
"Wha i' the earth is he, or what's ado wi' him?" I heard somebody speer.
"Gude kens," said anither voice. "It's shurely some milkman wi' the
bloo deevils."
"Milkman! What wud a milkman do wi' an umberell, a portmanty, an' a
lum hat?"
Juist at that meenit Sandy cam' fleein' alang the passage again, an' by
this time a' the fowk in the hotel were oot on the stairs. If you had
only seen the scrammel. They scoored doon the stairs, into pantries,
in below tables; the room doors were bangin' like thunder, an' Sandy's
bell was ringin' like's Gabriel had lost his trumpet. You never heard
sic a din. I saw him comin' leggin' up the stair. The stairheid was
fu' o' fowk, a' oot in their nicht-goons to see what was ado; but, I
can ashure you, when they saw Sandy comin' fleein' up, they shune
disappeared. Six policemen cudna scattered them so quick. He came
spankin' into my room, an' drappit intil a chair, fair oot o' pech.
"Oh, Bawbie, Bawbie!" he cried, "gi'e's a drink. Tak' that umberell,"
he says, haudin' oot the bell to me. "I've been fleein' a' roond
Edinboro wi' naething on but my nicht-goon, an' my lum, an' a' the coal
cairters i' the kingdom ringin' their bells at my tails. Sic a wey o'
doin'! O dear me! I wiss I was hame again! O dear me!"
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