There was mair lauchin', an' I saw Sandy was gettin' raised.
"Is't l—b—w., ye stewpid auld bloit?" said the impident little wisgan o' a captain, stickin' himsel' up afore Sandy.
"I'll l—b—double you," says Sandy, "if ye gie me ony o' your chat, ye half-cled horn-goloch 'at ye are"; and he took the sacket a kleip i' the side o' the heid wi' his open luif that tummeled him ower the tap o' the wickets like a puckle rags. In half a meenit a' the hunder laddies were round Sandy, an' him layin' amon' them wi' ane o' their ain wickets.
I'll swag the Gallyfloor C.C. got something frae their pattern lest Setarday efternune that they'll no forget in a hurry. Some men on the Common cam' doon an' shoo'd the loons awa' frae pappin' Sandy wi' duds, an' we got hame withoot any farrer mishap; but a' forenicht I heard Sandy wirrin' awa' till himsel', an' sayin' ilky noo an' than—"Ill-gettit little deevils; an' me gae them an' orange box too!"
Nathan cam' in juist afore I shut the shop, an' tell'd Sandy that there had been an' awfu' row on the Common. "Some o the lads i' the Callyfloor," said Nathan, "were blamin'the captain for gien you cheek, an' said the wallop i' the lug he got saired him richt. So he got on his jeckit an' his buits, an' got a haud o' the best bat an' the ba', an' then he roars a' his micht, 'The club's broken up.' You never saw sic a row as there was. Willy Mollison's i' the club, an' he's gotten three bails an' a wicket. That's better gin naething. I nailed twa o' the bails till him out o' Tarn Dargie's pooch, when he was fechtin' wi' the captain. Snapper Morrison didna get onything; but he ower the Common dyke an' in the road; an' when I was comin' hame I saw him leggin' in the Loan wi' the orange box on his heid. He had nabbit it oot o' Tooties' Nook, whaur they keepit their bats an' wickets. It's a gude thing they're broken up at onyrate. I'm in the Collie Park, an' they're the only club that cud lick his lads."
"O, that's a' richt," says Sandy; an' awa' he gaed, as pleased as you like. When I dandered doon the yaird to get a breath o' fresh air, efter I shut the shop, here's him tumblin' catmas, an' stanin' on his heid i' the middle o' the green, gien Nathan an' twa or three ither loons coosies! Did you ever hear o' sic a man?
XII.
A DREADFUL DISASTER IN THE GARRET.
I'm shure I needna trauchle to haud in aboot the bawbees! That man o' mine wud ramsh an' hamsh an' fling awa' mair than I cud save although I was a millionaire. Nae farrer gane than lest nicht I heard some ongaens up the stair. What's he up till noo? thinks I to mysel'. Ye ken our garret? It's a anod bit roomie, an' we sleep up there i' the simmer nichts, for the doonstair room gets that het an' seekrif, I canna fa' ower ava sometimes. So I have the garret made rale snod an' cosie. There's a fine fixed-in bed, an' I have the room chairs I got when my Auntie Leeb de'ed, wi' a tidie or twa ower them, an' an auld-fashioned roond tablie 'at I bocht at a rowp—ane o' thae anes that cowps up an' sets back to the wa' when you're no' needn't. Auntie Leeb left me her big lookin' gless too. Ye mind she had a shooster shopie at the fit o' Collie Park, an' she had a big lookin' gless for her customers seeing hoo their frocks fitted. Ay weel than, I set the gless juist up again' the wa' at the end o' the garret, firnent the fireplace an' it made the roomie real cantie an' cheerie lookin'.