By-and-by some mischievous individual told Scotty that Geordie was ‘full’ set upon being pansy champion, and was so cock-sure about it that he was willing to back himself to win.
Scotty was so annoyed at this that the next time he came across Geordie he could not refrain from jeering at his attempt at pansy growing. ‘Wey, it’ll be as muckle as ye can do to tell a pansy frae a vi’let!’ he cried.
Geordie looked at him seriously from under his bushy eyebrows as he replied, ‘I’s gannin’ to show—an’ I’s gannin’ to win—wi’ pansies, not vi’lets.’
‘Will ye back yorsel’, then?’ retorted his opponent sneeringly.
‘Well, ye knaa,’ replied the other slowly, with evident embarrassment, ‘I’s not a bettin’ man, but if thoo thinks I’s not in earnest, I’s willin’ to gie a proof that I is. What d’ye say to yor takin’—if ye beat us, that is—anythin’ oot o’ my hoos thoo has a fancy for; an’—an’—if I beat thoo, wey, aal I axes is that thoo should come to chapel—noo an’ again, ye knaa—ov an evenin’,’ he hastily added, as his companion’s face assumed a look of infinite scorn.
‘Ha’ ye got that auld double-barrelled shot-gun yet?’ queried Scotty, after a pause in which he had arrived at the conclusion that the odds were ‘aboot a thoosand to one’ in his favour.
‘Yes,’ replied Geordie. ‘I still have her; she’s there hangin’ up above the mantelshelf.’
‘Well, I’ll tak’ up wi’ yor proposal,’ was Scotty’s reply.
‘Shake hands on’t, then,’ said Geordie slowly, unsuccessfully endeavouring to instil an apprehensive tremor into his voice.
His companion shook hands carelessly, and swung away whistling barefacedly, ‘And it’s up wi’ the bonnets o’ Bonnie Dundee.’