My Man Sandy
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J. B. Salmond >> My Man Sandy
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"That's no an umberell, you doited fule," says I. "That's the denner
bell you've been fleein' aboot wi' i' your hand."
Sandy lookit at the bell; an' you never saw sic a face as he put on.
He lut it drap on the flure wi' a clash like a clap o' thunder, an' I
heard a crood o' fowk scurryin' awa' frae oor bedroom door.
I tell'd the landlord hoo the thing happened, an' next mornin' at
brakfast time you never heard sic lauchin'. A' the chaps were clappin'
Sandy on the shuder; an' ane o' them says--"Ay, man; it's no mony fowk
that tak's their lum hat an' their umberell to their bed wi' them."
But the auld skipper was the king amon' them a'. Hoo he raggit Sandy
aboot bein' a somnambulashinist or something.
"When you want to steal a denner bell," he said to Sandy, "carry't by
the tongue, man. It's safer that wey. Bells an' weemin are awfu'
beggars when their tongues get lowse."
The captain was rale taen wi' Sandy, an', mind you, he hired a cab an'
drave Sandy an' me a' roond the toon. He said he was bidin' in
Carnoustie, and he wadna hae a nasay but we wud come an' hae a cup o'
tea wi' him. "An' if you'll bide a' nicht," he said, "we'll be awfu'
pleased. An' I'll chain up the denner bell i' the dog's cooch juist
for that nicht."
Ay, weel! it's fine lauchin' noo when it's a' ower. But if you'd been
in my place, you wudna lauchen muckle, I'se warrant.
IV.
A TALK ABOUT HEAVEN.
Sandy got a terrible dose o' the cauld lest week. I never hardly saw
him so bad. He was ootbye at the plooin' match lest Wedensday, an'
he's hardly ever been ootower the door sin' syne. There was a nesty
plook cam' oot juist abune his lug on Setarday, an' he cudna get on his
lum hat; so he had to bide at hame a' Sabbath, an' he spent the feck o'
the day i' the hoose readin' Tammas Boston's "Power-fold State" an' the
"Pilgrim's Progress." Ye see, Sandy's a bit o' a theologian aye when
he's onweel. If he's keepit i' the hoose wi' a host or a sair heid,
Sandy juist tak's a dose o' medicin', an' starts to wirry awa' at
Bunyan or the Bible. He's a queer cratur that wey, for as halikit a
character as he is.
But we had a kind o' a kirk o' oor ain on Sabbath i' the forenicht, for
Dauvid Kenawee cam' in, an' syne Bandy Wobster; an' they werena weel
set doon when in cam' Jacob Teylor, the smith, an' Stumpie Mertin alang
wi' them. Gairner Winton cam' in to speer what had come ower Sandy,
for he hadna seen him at the kirk. Ye never saw sic a hoosefu'! Sandy
was sittin' at the fireside wi' an auld greatcoat an' a hairy bonnet
on, an' a' the sax o' them fell to the crackin', ye never heard the
like. Ye wudda really thocht it was a meetin' o' the Presbitree--they
were a' speaking that throwither.
"An' what was the minister on the nicht, Gairner?" I says, says I,
juist to stop them yabblin' aboot politicks, an' a' the like o' that
nonsense on Sabbath nicht.
"He had twa texts the nicht, Bawbie," said the Gairner. "He took the
wirds in Second Kings, second an' elevent, an' in Luke, nint an'
thirtieth, an' a fine discoorse he made o't, aboot Elijah bein' taen up
to heaven in the fiery chariot, an' comin' again a hunder or a thoosand
'ear efter, juist the same billie as he gaed awa'. He made oot that
we'd meet a' oor deid freends in heaven again, an' juist ken them the
same as though they'd only been awa' frae hame for a cheenge for a
while."
"I dinna haud wi' yon view o' the thing ava," said Bandy Wobster. "He
wud hae's a' believe that fowk never grow a bit aulder in heaven. The
thing appears to me to be ridic'lous. Elijah, a thoosand 'ear efter he
was taen up, cam' back withoot being a bit cheenged ether ae wey or
anither; that was his idea o't."
"It's a gey ticklish subjeck," put in the Smith; "but, faigs, lads, I
haud wi' the minister."
He's an awtu' nice, cowshis man the Smith. Ye wud sometimes think he
was meent for a minister, he says things that clever; an' a body aye
feels the better efter a crack wi' him.
"Ye see," he gaed on, "I wadna like it to be ony ither wey. Ye mind o'
my little Elsie? Puir lassie, it's--lat me see; ay, it's twal' 'ear
come Mertimas sin' she was taen awa'. Ay, man; an' she taen mair o' my
heart wi' her in her bit coffinie than she left ahent her. A bonnie
bit lassie she was, Bawbie, as ye'll mind. She was juist seven past
when she was taen awa'; an' when I meet her again, I wud like her to be
juist the same bonnie bit lassokie that cam' in wi' her pawlie that
Setarday efternune an' tell'd me she had a sair heid--the henmist sair
heid ever she was genna hae. Ye see, lads, if Elsie was growin' aulder
in heaven, she wud be a woman nearhand twenty gin this time, an' she
wudna be the same to me ava." An' the Smith lookit into the heart o'
the fire like's he had tint something; an' I saw his een fill.
"That's the minister's wey o' lookin' at the thing too, I think," said
the Gairner; "but I canna juist fathom't, I maun admit."
"There's something in what the Smith says," said Bandy; "but if there's
to be nae growin' ony aulder i' the next world, there'll be some fowk
'ill hae a gey trauchle. There was Mysie Wilkie's bairn that de'ed
doon there i' the Loan a fortnicht syne. It was a puir wammily-lookin'
cratur, an' was only but aucht days auld when it took bruntkadis an'
closed, juist in an 'oor or twa. Mysie, puir cratur, never kent. She
was brainish a' the time, an' she follow'd her bairnie twa days efter.
D'ye mean to tell me that Mysie 'ill be dwanged trailin' throo a'
eternity wi' a bit bairnie aucht days auld, an' it never gettin' even
the lenth o' bein' doakit, lat aleen growin' up to be able to tak' care
o'ts sel? The thing's no rizzenable."
"But there wud be plenty bit lassies to gie the bairn a hurl in a
coach," said the Tailor. "I dinna see hoo Mysie cudna get redd o' her
bairn for an' oor noo an' than."
"But that wud juist be a dwang to the lassies, syne," answered Bandy.
"That's a thing I've often thocht aboot mysel'," says Sandy; "an' the
only wey I cud mak' it oot was that a'body in heaven 'ill be juist i'
their prime. I've thocht to mysel' that a' the men folk wud be, say,
aboot thirty-five 'ear auld, or atween that an' forty, an' the weemin
mibby fower or five 'ear younger."
"An' wud they be a' ae size, d'ye think?" says Stumpie Mertin.
Stumpie's a tailor, ye see, an' I suppose he'd been winderin' aboot hoo
he wud manish wi' the measurin'.
"I canna say naething aboot the size," says Sandy; "it's the auldness
we're taen up aboot i' the noo."
"Na, na, Sandy; your wey o't 'ill no' do ava," said the Smith.
"There'll be bairns an' auld fowk in heaven as weel's here. Auld fowk
'ill no' get dune or dotal, like what they do i' this world,
undootedly; but there'll be young fowk for them to guide an' advise.
It wud be a puir wey o' doin', I'm thinkin', whaur naebody was wyzer
than his neeper, an' whaur ye wud never hae the chance o' doin' a
freend a gude turn."
"It's past my comprehension," said the Gairner. "Maist fowk thinks
it'll be a braw place, whaur there'll be nae trauchle or trouble wi'
onything; but I doot we maun juist tak' the Bible for't, lads, an' hae
faith that it'll be a' richt, whatever wey it comes aboot."
"There's ae thing, though, that I dinna haud wi' the minister in ava,"
said the Smith. "I canna thole the idea o' great croods o' stoot men
and weemin daidlin' aboot a' day doin' naething but singin' hymes.
I've often thocht aboot that, an' raley, Sandy, I dinna think I cud be
happy onywey if I didna hae my studio an' my hammer wi' me; for I'm
juist meeserable when I'm hingin' aboot idle. As for singin', I canna
sing a single bum. It's no' like the thing ava for weel-faur'd fowk to
do naething but trail aboot sing-singin' week-in week-oot. It may do
for litlans, an' precentir budies, like Mertin here; but able-bodied
fowk, wi' a' their faculties, cudna pet up wi't for a week, lat aleen
a' eternity."
Stumpie's an awfu' peppery budy, an' though the Smith leuch when he
made his joke at the tailor's precentin', Mertin got as raised as a
wasp, and he yattered back--"You'll maybe be better aff i' the ither
place, wi' your auld horse shune an' your smiddy reek, ye auld
acowder----"
"Toot, toot, Mertin; dinna get angry," says the Smith. "It was but a
joke, man. I've nae doot that I wud hardly be i' the right place amon'
angels an' sic like billies. But I tell ye what it is, I maun wirk for
my livin' in heaven as weel's here, if ever I get there. I cud never
pet aff my time gaen aboot doin' naething an' that's whaur I differ
frae the minister."
"But I think we're tell'd that there'll be mony mansions," says I; "an'
nae doubt there'll be mony kinds o' occupation too. There'll be a
chance for's a' bein' happy in oor ain wey, I'm thinkin'. I only wiss
we was sure we wud a' get there."
"Ah, Bawbie, lassie, that's whaur you're wyzer than the whole dollop
o's," says the Smith. "We're takin' up oor heids aboot a place we may
never get till; an', I'm thinkin', it'll be better for's a' to stick in
here an' do what's fair an' richt. If we mak' shure o' that, we may
lave a' the rest till a higher hand."
Mistress Kenawee landit in to see what had come ower Dauvid, an', dear
me, when I lookit at the tnock, here, it was five meenits to ten. We'd
been argeyin' that muckle aboot eternity, that we'd forgotten aboot the
time a'thegither.
V.
MISTRESS MIKAVER'S TEA PARTY.
I'll swag, mind ye, but the men's no' far wrang when they say that
weemin have most dreedfu' lang tongues. Dod, mind ye, but it's ower
troo; it's ower troo!
Mistress Mikaver wud hae me alang to a cup o' tea lest Teysday
efternune; so I gae my hands an' face a bit dicht, an' threw on my
Sabbath goon, an' awa' I gaed. I fell in wi' Mistress Kenawee on the
road, an', gin we landit, there was a gaitherin' o' wives like what you
wudda seen ony mornin' at the Mossy Wall afore the noo water supply was
brocht in aboot the toon.
Mysie Meldrum was there wi' a braw noo print frock on. Hand your
tongue! Five bawbees the yaird! I saw the very marrows o't in Hantin
the draper's remmindar winda. But, faigs, Mysie was prood o't, an' nae
mistak. It was made i' the first o' fashion, a' drawn i' the briest,
an' shuders as big's smokit hams, wi' Mysie's bit facie lookin' oot
atween them, like's she was sittin' in an auld-fashioned easychair.
But, of coorse, I never bather my heid aboot what wey fowk's dressed.
Mistress Mollison was juist as assorted as uswal. She'd as muckle on
as wudda dressed twa or three folk, an' she was ill-cled at that.
"What'll hae come o' her seal jeckit?" says Mistress Kenawee to me, wi'
a nudge, when we gaed ben the hoose to get oor things aff; but I said
naething, for, the fac' o' the maitter is, I thocht Mistress Kenawee a
fell sicht hersel'. There was a great target o' black braid hingin'
frae the tail o' her goon, an' the back seam o' her body was riven in
twa-three places. An' if the truth be tell'd, I wasna very braw
mysel'. Thinks I to mysel', as I've heard the Gairner's wife say, them
that hae riven breeks had better keep their seats.
Gairner Winton's wife was there, lookin' as happy an' impident as
uswal; an' Ribekka Steein cam' in juist as me an' Mistress Kenawee were
gettin' set doon amon' the rest. Mistress Mikaver was quite my leddy,
an' was rinnin' frae the teen to the tither o's juist terriple anxious
to mak's a' at hame, an' makin's a' meesirable. I windered that the
cratur didna gae heidlang ower some o' the stules she had sittin'
aboot; but she got through wi' a' her fairlies an' the tea maskit
withoot ony mishap, an' we got a' set roond the table for oor tea.
Mistress Mikaver had oot her mither's cheenie, an' a braw tablecloth,
o' her mither's ain spinnin' she tell'd's. She has an awfu' hoosefu'
o' stech, Mistress Mikaver; press efter press, an' kist efter kist fu'.
I ashure you, the lass that gets young Alek 'ill no want for providin'.
She had a'thing in fine order; it was a perfeck treat to sit doon; an'
I noticed a braw noo pentin' o' the scone-baker hung abune the chumla.
He maun hae left a fell feck o' bawbees, for I ashure ye his weeda has
a fu' hoose, an' aye plenty to do wi'.
Weel-a-weel, we had oor tea, as I was tellin' ye, an' a fine cup it
was. Eh, it's a nice thing a cup o' fresh tea. There's naething I
like better; it's that refreshin', especially if you've somebody to
crack till when you're at it. An', I'll swag, we didna weary for want
o' crackin' that efternune. The Gairner's wife an' Mysie Meldrum are
twa awfu' tagues for tongue; an' some o' the rest o's werena far to the
hent, I'm dootin'.
"Noo, juist see an' mak' yersels a' at hame," said Mistress Mikaver, in
her uswal fizzy kind o' wey.
"An', as the auld sayin' is, gin ye dinna like what's set doon, juist
tak' what ye brocht wi' ye," says Mistress Winton, an' set's a' to the
lauchin'. You never heard sic a cratur for thae auld-farrant sayin's;
an' Mysie's no' far ahent. Dod, they pappit ane anither wi' proverbs
juist like skule laddies wi' snawba's.
"There's Moses Certricht's wife awa' by there," says Mistress Kenawee,
pointin' oot at the winda. "She's a clorty, weirdless-lookin' cratur.
I'm dootin' Moses hasna muckle o' a hame wi' her, the gloidin' tawpie
'at she is."
"Eh, haud your tongue!" said Mistress Mollison. "The puir man's juist
fair hudden doon wi' her, the lazy, weirdless trail. But it's the
bairns I'm sorra for. Ye'll see them i' the mornin' gaen awa' berfit
to the skule, an' a seerip piece i' their hand, wi' fient o' hand or
face o' them washen, an' their claes as greasy as a cadger's pooch.
It's a winder to me 'at Moses disna tak' to drink."
"He has himsel' to blame," brook in the Gairner's wife. "She cam' o'
an ill breed. He kent what she was afore he married her. Ye canna
mak' a silk purse oot o' a soo's lug. Eh, na! Gin ye want a guid
sheaf, gang aye to a guid stook."
"You're richt there, Mistress Winton," said Mysie. "Tak' a cat o' your
ain kind an' it'll no' scart ye, my mither used to say; an' I'm shure
I've seen that come true of'en, of'en."
"They tell me," said Mistress Kenawee, "that Moses gie's her
seven-an'-twinty shillin's every week to keep her hoose wi'. What she
does wi't it beats me to mak' oot. Mony a mither wud be gled o' the
half o't i' the noo, an' wud feed an' deed half a dizzen bairns on't."
"But Moses is a fooshinless, hingin'-aboot kind o' a whaup," says I.
"The blame's mibby no' a' on ae side o' the hoose. There's lots o'
your braw billies ye wudna need to follow ower their ain doorstap.
When there's din an' dirt i' the hoose, the wife aye gets the dirdum.
Moses has ower muckle to say aboot the wife. She may be ill, but he's
no' the pairty to saw't like neep seed ower a' the countryside."
"You're richt there, Bawbie," said Mistress Winton. "I've tell'd Moses
that till's face afore the day. They're scarce o' noos that tells
their father was hanged."
"He's an ill man that blackgairds his wife, altho' she were the
deevil's sister," says Mysie; an' even Ribekka gae her moo a dicht, an'
whispered to hersel', "Eh, aye, that's a troo sayin'."
"I'll no' say a wird again' men," said Mistress Mikaver, "for Wellum
was a guid man to me"; an' she took a lang breth throo her nose, an'
lookit up at the picture abune the chumla. "I think I've seen Moses
the waur o' a dram; but he looks a quiet eneuch stock," gays she.
"He's some like my man," I strak in. "He's gey an' of'en oot aboot
when he shud be at hame. There's no' muckle hertnin' for a woman when
she's left to trauchle day oot day in wi' seven litlans, an' a
thrawn-gabbit footer o' a man juist comin' in at diet times, rennyin'
aboot first ae thing an' syne anither, threapin' that his porritch is
no' half boiled, simmerin' an' winterin' aboot haen to wait a meenit or
twa for his denner or his tea. Moses Certricht's a soor, nyattery bit
body, an' he tarragats the wife most unmercifu' aboot ilky little bit
kyowowy. She may be nae better than she's ca'd. She has nae throwpet
wi' her wark, an' she's terriple weirdless wi' her hoose; but she get's
michty little frae Moses to mend her--that's my opinion."
"Muckle aboot ane, Bawbie, as the deil said to the cobbler," says
Mysie. "I wudna say but you're mibby richt eneuch."
"Dawtit dochters mak' daidlin' wives," said the Gairner's wife. "She
was spoilt at hame, afore Moses saw her. Her mither thocht there was
nae lassies like hers, an' I'm shure she saired them hand an' fit. But
you'll of'en see't, that wirkin' mithers mak' feckless dochters. At
the same time, as my mither used of'en to say, an ill shearer never got
a guid heuk, an', I daursay, Moses an' his wife, as uswally occurs,
baith blame ane anither."
We feenisht oor tea, an' got set doon at the winda wi' oor stockin's
an' oor seams, juist to hae a richt corrieneuchin, as Mistress Winton
ca'd it. Mysie an' me were baith at ribbit socks, so we tried a stent
wi' ane anither. But Mysie's tongue gaed fully fester than her wires,
an' I'd raither the better o' her. She forgot a' aboot her intaks, an'
had her stockin' leg a guid bit ower lang when she cam' to the tnot on
her wirsit.
"A thochtless body's aye thrang," said the Gairner's wife, as Mysie
began to tak' doon what she'd wrocht.
"Toot ay," said Mysie. "Gin a budy be gaen doon the brae, ilky ane
'ill gie ye a gundy."
The twa keepit at it wi' their proverbs till I got akinda nervish, d'ye
ken. They were that terriple wyze, that, as fac's ocht, mind you, they
near drave some o' the rest o's daft.
"Did you hear tell that Ribekka here was genna get Jeems Ethart?" said
Mistress Mollison to the Gairner's wife, juist to get her on to Beek's
tap.
Ribekka blushed like a lassie o' fifteen, an' bringin' her tongue alang
her upper lip, she shook her heid an' says, "Juist a lot o' blethers.
Jeems wudna hae a puir thing like me."
"Ye dinna tell me!" said Mistress Winton, never lattin' wink she heard
Ribekka. "That's the wey o't is't? Imphm! What d'ye think o' that,
na? Weel dune, Ribekka. He's a fine coodie man, Jeems; an' he'll tak'
care o' Ribekka, the young taed. Wha wudda thocht it?"
Ribekka had her moo half fu' o' the lace on her saitin apron, an' was
enjoyin' the raggin' fine, altho' she was terriple putten aboot, wi'
her wey o't.
"Better sit still than rise up an' fa'," said Mysie. "Gin I were
Ribekka I'd bide my leen. I wud like to see the man that wud tak' me
oot o' my present state."
"He wudna need to be very parteeklar," says I, juist to gie Mysie a
backca'; for she was sailin' gey near the wind, I thocht. "When I was
young," I says, says I----
"Auld wives were aye gude maidens," the Gairner's wife strak in; an' I
saw I was cornered, an' said nae mair.
"An' a weeda man too!" said Mysie wi' a grumph. "Better keep the deil
atower the door than drive him oot o' the hoose."
"'Saut,' quo the souter, when he ate the soo, an' worried on the tail,"
was the Gairner's wife's comment; an' Mysie didna like it, I can tell
ye.
"You wasna in that wey o' thinkin' when Dossie Millar, the skulemester,
used to come an' coort you, when you was up-by at the Provost's," said
Ribekka to Mysie. "If it hadna been for the lid o' the water-barrel
gien wey yon nicht, you michta been skelpin' Dossie's bairns the
day--an' your ain too."
We a' took a hearty lauch at Ribekka's ootburst.
"Eh, that was a pliskie," said Mistress Kenawee. "Dossie got a gey
drookin' that nicht. They said it was ane o' the coachmen that was
efter Mysie that sawed the lid half throo; an' when Dossie climbed up
to hae his crack wi' Mysie at the winda, in he gaed up to the lugs.
The story was that Mysie fair lost her chance wi' him, wi' burstin' oot
lauchin' when he climbed oot o' the barrel soakin'-dreepin' throo an'
throo. He never got ower't, for it got oot aboot, an' the very bairns
at the skule began to ca' him the Drookit Dominie. He got a job at the
Druckendub skule, an' never lookit Mysie's airt again."
"You're grand crackers," said Mysie. "Ye ken a hankie mair than ever
happened; but, the man that cheats me ance, shame fa' him; gin he cheat
me twice, shame fa' me. That's my wey o' lookin' at things."
This kind o' raggin' at ane anither gaed on for the feck o' the
forenicht, an' we were juist i' the thick o' a' tirr-wirr aboot the
best cure for the kink-host, when the doonstairs door gaed clash to the
wa', an' in anither meenit in banged Sandy in his sark sleeves, an' his
hair fleein' like a bundle o' ravelled threed.
"Michty tak' care o' me, Sandy," says I, I says; "what's happened?"
"Aye the mair the merrier, but the fewer they fess the better," says
Mistress Winton.
"Wha's been meddlin' wi' you, Sandy?"
But fient a wird cud Sandy get oot. He was stanin' pechin' like a
podlie oot o' the watter, an' starin' roond him like a huntit dog.
"Fiddlers' dogs and fleshers' flees come to feasts unbidden," said
Mysie; but Sandy gae her a glower that garred her steek her moo gey
quick.
"What i' the earth's wrang, Sandy," I says, gien him a shak'.
"Wh-wh-whaur's the g-grund ceenimin, Bawbie?" says Sandy. "There's a
tinkler wife needin' a bawbee's-wirth, an' I've socht the shop heich
an' laich for't."
"Keep me, Sandy," says I, "is that what's brocht you here? You'll get
it in a mustard tin in the pepper drawer. But wha's i' the shop?"
"Oo, juist the tinkler wife," says Sandy.
"Weel, did you ever?" said Mistress Kenawee, haudin' up her hands.
"No!" said Sandy, turnin' to her gey ill-natured like. "Did you?"
"That's a type o' what ye ca' your men," says Mysie. "Weel, weel;
they're scarce o' cloots that mend their hose wi' dockens."
"Bliss my hert, Sandy, she'll be awa' wi' the till atore ye get back,"
I said. "Rin awa' yont as fest as your feet'll cairry ye."
"The fient a fear o' that," Sandy strak in. "I gae the pileeceman
tippence to stand at the door till I cam' back. I'm no' juist so
daft's a' that, yet."
"An' the tinkler wife wants a bawbee's wirth o' grund ceenimin?" said
the Gairner's wife. "That fair cows the cadger."
"I'll rin than," said Sandy. "I'll fa' in wi't a' richt noo; ye needna
hurry, Bawbie," he added, as he made his wey oot; an' syne wi' the door
in's hand, he says, "The pileeceman's in a hurry too, ye see. He has
to hurl hame Gairner Winton. He's lyin' alang in Famie Tabert's
public-hoose terriple foo"; an' awa' he floo, takin' the door to ahent
him wi' a blatter like thunder.
If you had seen Mistress Winton's face! It was a picture. She shogit
her heid frae side to side, wi' her moo shut, as if she wud never
open't again; but efter a whilie she spat oot twa-three wirds, juist
like's they'd been burnin' the tongue o' her. "A dog's tongue's nae
scandal," she yattered oot.
"Better the end o' a feast than the beginnin' o' a pley," said Mysie.
"We mauna lat onybody get cankered. Come awa' and sit doon, Mistress
Winton. Bawbie's man juist wantit a dab at ye. Dinna mistak' yersel';
the Gairner's as sober's a judge, I'se warrant."
But the crackin' wudna tak' the road somewey efter this. There was a
fell feck o' hostin', an' ow-ayin', an' so on; so I cam' my wa's hame
afore aucht o'clock, for I was juist sittin' on heckle-pins thinkin'
ilka meenit Sandy wud be comin' thrash in on's, roarin' he'd set the
parafin cask afeyre. I was gled when I got hame an' fand a'thing in
winderfu' order; although Sandy was gien Nathan coosies i' the shop
jumpin' ower the coonter wi' ane o' his hands in his pooch. It's juist
his wey, the cratur. He canna help it.
"Was the tinkler wife here when you cam' back?" I said to Sandy.
"Oo, ay," says he. "I gae her her ceenimin."
"There wudna be muckle profit oot o' that transaction, efter deduckin'
the pileeceman's tippence," I says, says I. "Hoo did ye no' juist say
that the grund ceenimin was a' dune?"
"'Cause that wudda been a lee," said Sandy.
"Weel, ye cud sen ye didna ken whaur it was," says I.
"That wudda lookit ridic'lous, an' me the mester o' the shop," said
Sandy.
"Weel, but d'ye no' see that it was ridic'lous to gie a pileeceman
tippence to watch a tinkler wife that wantit only a bawbee's-wirth o'
grund ceenimin," I says gey sharp till him.
"Better g'ie the pileeceman tippence than tak' the cratur afore the
shirra for stealin', an' mibby hae the toon peyin' a lot o' bawbees for
keepin' her in the gyle, forby railroad tickets for her and twa peelars
up to Dundee. That wudda been fully mair gin tippence," said Sandy.
Argeyin' wi' Sandy's juist like chasin' a whitterit in a drystane dyke.
When ye think you have him at ae hole, he juist pops throo anither.
Tach! When he's in thae argey-bargeyin' strums o' his, I canna be
bathered wi' him!
VI.
SANDY'S SECOND LESSON IN GEOMETRY.
Wi' a' his foiterin' weys, there's a winderfu' speerit o' independence
aboot Sandy, d'ye ken? He disna care aboot being dawtit by onybody,
especially by folk he disna like. Juist the ither day, for instance,
Sandy was jumpin' doon aff the fore-end o' his cairt. His fit had
tickled in aboot the britchin somewey, an' he cam' lick doon on the
braid o' his back i' the gutter. The bobby was stanin' juist ower the
road at the time, an' cam' rinnin' across wi' his moo wide open.
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