Chapter III.
After Tammas had finished boring half-a-dozen holes in the old sow with his sarcastic eye, he looked up, and addressed Hendry McQumpha.
“Hendry,” he said, “ye ken I’m a humorist, div ye no?”
Hendry scratched the old sow meditatively, before he answered.
“Ou ay,” he said, at length. “I’m no saying ’at ye’re no a humorist. I ken fine ye’re a sarcesticist, but there’s other humorists in the world, am thinkin’.”
This was scarcely what Tammas had expected. Hendry was usually one of his most devoted admirers. There was an awkward silence, which made me feel uncomfortable. I am only a poor Dominie, but some of my happiest hours had been passed on the pig-sty. Were these merry meetings to come to an end? Pete took up the talking.
“Hendry, my man,” he observed, as he helped himself out of Tammas’s snuff-mull, “ye’re ower kyow-owy. Ye ken humour’s a thing ’at spouts out o’ its ain accord, an’ there’s no nae spouter in Thrums ’at can match wi’ Tammas.”
A VESTED INTEREST
Bystander (to excited Scot, whose friend had been run over). “Not a near relative, I hope, sir.”
Scot. “Na—but—he has on a pair of ma breeks!”
He looked defiantly at Hendry, who was engaged in searching for coppers in his north-east-by-east-trouser pocket. T’nowhead said nothing, and Hookey was similarly occupied. At last, the stranger spoke.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “may I say a word? I may lay claim to some experience in the matter. I travel in humour, and generally manage to do a large business.”
He looked round interrogatively. Tammas eyed him with one of his keen glances. Then he worked his mouth round and round to clear the course for a sarcasm.
“So you’re the puir crittur,” said the stone-breaker, “’at’s meanin’ to be a humorist.”
This was the challenge. We all knew what it meant, and fixed our eyes on the stranger.
A TARTAR
Dr. M‘Currie (a chilly old soul), having ascertained from his landlady that coals are sixpence a scuttle, politely insists on providing a scuttle of his own, and begs to return, with many thanks, the charmingly tasteful article she had intended for his use.
SOLILOQUY
“If I hold on, I’ll lose my train; if I let go, I’ll fa’! Did ever onybody hear tell o’ sic a predicament?”
“THE GARB OF OLD GAUL”
Native (to visitor from the South). “Ah, you’ve donned the kilt! Quite killing, I declare! But why do you wear the Macdonald tartan when your name is Thompson?”
Little T. (who has been getting a good deal of chaff). “F’r a very good reason—’cause I’ve paid for it!”
[Retires in a huff.
“Certainly,” was his answer; “that is exactly my meaning. I trust I make myself plain. I’m willing to meet any man at catch-weights. Now here,” he continued, “are some of my samples. This story about a house-boat, for instance, has been much appreciated. It’s almost in the style of Mr. Jerome’s masterpiece; or this screamer about my wife’s tobacco-pipe and the smoking mixture. Observe,” he went on, holding the sample near to his mouth, “I can expand it to any extent. Puff, puff! Ah! it has burst. No matter, these accidents sometimes happen to the best regulated humorists. Now, just look at these,” he produced half-a-dozen packets rapidly from his bundle. “Here we have a packet of sarcasm—equal to dynamite. I left it on the steps of the Savile Club, but it missed fire somehow. Then here are some particularly neat things in cheques. I use them myself to paper my bedroom. It’s simpler and easier than cashing them, and besides,” adjusting his mouth to his sleeve, and laughing, “it’s quite killing when you come to think of it in that way. Lastly, there’s this banking-account sample, thoroughly suitable for journalists and children. You see how it’s done. I open it, you draw on it. Oh, you don’t want a drawing-master, any fellow can do it, and the point is it never varies. Now,” he concluded, aggressively, “what have you got to set against that, my friend?”
Sandy McPherson, in a moment of abstraction, put half-a-crown in the collection plate last Sunday in mistake for a penny, and has since expended a deal of thought as to the best way of making up for it. “Noo I might stay awa’ frae the kirk till the sum was made up; but on the ither han’ I wad be payin’ pew rent a’ the time an’ gettin’ nae guid o’ ’t. Losh! but I’m thinkin’ this is what the meenister ca’s a ‘releegious defficulty!’”
We all looked at Tammas. Hendry kicked the pail towards him, and he put his foot on it. Thus we knew that Hendry had returned to his ancient allegiance, and that the stranger would be crushed. Then Tammas began——
“Man, man, there’s no nae doubt ’at ye lauch at havers, an’ there’s mony ’at lauchs at your clipper-clapper, but they’re no Thrums fowk, and they canna’ lauch richt. But we maun juist settle this matter. When we’re ta’en up wi’ the makkin’ o’ humour, we’re a’ dependent on other fowk to tak’ note o’ the humour. There’s no nane o’ us ’at’s lauched at anything you’ve telt us. But they’ll lauch at me. Noo then,” he roared out, “‘A pie sat on a pear-tree.’”
We all knew this song of Tammas’s. A shout of laughter went up from the whole gathering. The stranger fell backwards into the sty a senseless mass.
“Man, man,” said Hookey to Tammas, as we walked home; “what a crittur ye are! What pit that in your heed?”
“THE QUEEN’S ENGLISH” (OR SCOTCH)
Minister. “Weel, John, an hoo did ye like ma son’s discoorse?”
John. “Weel, meenister, ah maun admeet he’s vera soond, but, oh man! he’s no deep! His pronoonciation’s no vera gweed; but ah’ve nae doobt he’ll impruv’!”
“It juist took a grip o’ me,” replied Tammas, without moving a muscle; “it flashed upon me ’at he’d no stand that auld song. That’s where the humour o’ it comes in.”
“Ou, ay,” added Hendry, “Thrums is the place for rale humour.” On the whole, I agree with him.