My Man Sandy | Page 5

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'