And now at last the rumble of an approaching train was audible, and the group at once assumed an alert and eager air.
A crowd of tired excursionists slowly descended the narrow path from the station, men and women together, but there was no sign of Geordie or the ‘fancy’ wife. Mary’s heart grew heavy within her; after all, then, she would have to depart without that sweet morsel—her revenge. The ‘fancy’ wife must have relented and informed Geordie of her plans.
‘Ho-way,’ cried a man in her ear, ‘he’s not comin’ back the night; thoo’s gi’en him a gliff mevvies.’
‘Stay!’ cried she swiftly, detaining him by the arm. ‘What’s that, then?’ she whispered triumphantly, as at the tail of the procession of pleasure-seekers a couple became visible descending fitfully with wayward lurches.
‘See there!’ continued Mary eagerly, ‘it’s Geordie an’ his “fancy” wife with him. Catch tight haud of him, an’ mount him, an’ carry him through the length o’ the village on the “stang”—right to his very door; he canna get in though, for I’ve the key i’ my pocket,’ and Mary laughed with an inward glee.
Down came the couple slowly, Geordie abusing his companion, as he lurched against her heavily, for not progressing with more even footsteps, the woman saying nothing, but tightly gripping him by the arm, in order, doubtless, to keep him upright and also to prevent any attempt at escape.
The wicket-gate swung open, Geordie lurched through, and in a moment he was seized, hoisted into the air, a rough pole thrust through his legs, and the triumphal march began to the tune of a penny whistle, played by the local champion, a carter to trade, and a number of Jews’ harps and toy trumpets with which a herd of small boys poured forth discordant revel.
‘Gox! Aa’s fallen intiv a sorcus (circus),’ cried Geordie, in the first moment of astonishment, then, ‘Leave haud ov us, ye great flamin’ Irish—— What the devil’s this Aa’s astride o’?’ adding with solemn dignity, ‘Yore makin’ a tarr’ble mistake. Aa’s not Blondin, ti walk on a tight rope for ye; Aa’s Geordie Campbell o’ the Raa (Row), whe lives i’ the hoos wi’ the brass handle tiv’t.’
‘Ay, ay, we knaa thoo!’ cried the chorus of urchins; ‘thoo’s Geordie, drunken Geordie, Geordie wi’ the “fancy” wife. Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang! Eh, what a clivvor rider is Geordie! Thoo’s a proper jockey, Geordie, an’ thoo’ll mevvies ride the winner i’ “the Plate”[20] before thoo’s finished wiv it.’
This idea tickled the carriers of the ‘stang,’ and Geordie’s bearers were forthwith transformed into thorough-breds with a tendency to buck-jump. Hither and thither he rolled, dazed and bewildered, helplessly clutching at the heads of those near him for support, but his arms were seized, his legs tightly crossed below the ‘stang,’ and he swung from side to side, while the rougher boys, chanting rude doggerel over him, gathered and threw mud upon him. A trombone and a ‘sarpint’ here joined the noisy crowd, and to the varied strains of ‘The Campbells are coming,’ ‘Weel may the keel row,’ and ‘Canny Dog Cappie,’ Geordie was borne in triumph up the Row.