‘Well, what is’t?’ said the latter, suffering herself to be led through the crowd to a quiet corner.
Mary at once proceeded, but with a cautious self-effacement, to detail her schemes for Geordie’s discomfiture. ‘It will not hurt him,’ she protested, as her rival still sat silent, ‘but it will pay him a bit for the way he’s treated us’—here Mary’s hand again occupied itself with the soiled dress—‘and it will give ye the laugh over him. I’ve done wiv him mysel; I’m awa to France to-night or morning—that’s where Grandfeyther was bred; he came to these parts selling onions at first, an’ finally settled doon here to ’scape the soldierin’. An’ I’ve money enough to pay the expenses,’ she continued; ‘an’ for suthin’ to eat an’ drink an’ the ticket.’
The ‘fancy’ wife looked at her somewhat hardly, suspicion rising to the surface of her eye. ‘An’ sae yore off to France, are ye?’ she queried; ‘ay, an’ yore tired ov him? Well, mevvies he would say as he was tired o’ thoo; but I’ve a grudge again’ him for the way he’s treat us to-day, spendin’ aal my brass ower himsel’ an’ clartin’ my gown an’ all, an’ I’ll pay him for’t, I’s warn’d.’ And her face darkened vindictively.
‘That’s right,’ replied Mary swiftly. ‘And now for the plan. Here’s money for you to treat him with. Get him awa oot o’ the public before he’s had too much, an’ bring him along wi’ you by the last train from Bridgeton, an’ I’ll meet you wi’ the “stang” ready for him, an’ the lads, an’ the music, an’ all. Oh, but it’ll all gan fine, ye-es, ye-es!’
So Mary, having handed over all that she could spare to her rival, departed for the railway-station with a view to catching an earlier train, and revising her preparations at the other end.
Her elation was complete. The only possible flaw in her subtly-devised plan lay in the moods of the ‘fancy’ wife. If Geordie continued to treat her roughly—and as he had now evidently settled down to the drink, he was almost certain to do so—she would be true to the arrangement; if not, she might relent, and keep Geordie from his house that night.
* * * * *
The train was overdue, and Mary waited with a feverish expectation at the station’s descent amidst a small crowd of young men and boys to whom the idea of making anyone ‘ride the stang’ had appealed with an irresistible sense of novelty.
The custom, indeed, was obsolete, but all had heard of it, and the older men had often witnessed it in their youth, and some of them had collected near the station to criticise and superintend the performance.
The ‘stang’ itself was in readiness—having been lent to Mary on this occasion by the schoolmaster and antiquary of the village, whose father had been, as constable, its custodian in the old days.