XV.
SANDY MAKES A SPEECH.
There's been great gaitherin's in oor washin'-hoose this while back—"Nochties-an'-Broziana," Bandy Wobster ca'd the meetin's to Sandy. The ither Wedensday i' the forenicht—the shop was shut i' the efternune, of coorse; I'm a great believer i' the half-holiday, you see. I think it's a capital idea. It gi'es a body a kind o' a breath or twa i' the middle o' the week, an' it pits naebody aboot. The fowk juist come for their things afore you shut. It disna mak' a hair o' difference. If you didna open ava, they wud juist come the nicht afore.
Weel, but, as I was sayin', the ither Wedensday nicht I flang my shallie ower my heid, an' took a stap oot at the back door i' the gloamin'. It was a fine nicht, an' I sat doon on the simmer-seat at the gavel o' the washin'-hoose, an' heard the argey-bargeyin' gaen on inside. I stuid up an' lookit in at the bolie winda, juist abune whaur the skeels sit, an' here was Sandy an' his cronies a' busy crackin' an' smokin', an enjoyin' themselves i' the middle o' a great steer o' reek an' noise.
Juist as I lookit in, Bandy Wobster said something to Dauvid Kenawee, an' Dauvid raise, an' takin' his pipe oot o' his moo, says, "Order! I pirpose Mester Wobster to the chair."
"Hear, hear," said a' the rest; an' wi' that Bandy got up on the boiler-heid on his belly, an' turnin' roond, sat wi' the legs o' him hingin' ower the front o' the boiler, juist like a laddie sittin' on the dyke at the Common. Watty Finlay, the weaver, shuved anower a tume butter kit for Bandy to set his feet on, an' then a'body sat quiet, juist like's something was genna happen.
Bandy took a bit tarry string, or tabaka or something, ooten his breeks pooch, an', nippin' aff a quarter o' a yaird o't, he into his moo wi't. Syne he swallowed a spittal, an' said—"Freends an' fella ratepeyers." Bandy never pey'd rates in's life. He bides in a twa-pound garret i' the Wyndies, an' hardly ever peys rent, lat aleen rates. "Freends an' fella ratepeyers," says he.
Bandy was stan'in' up on the boddom o' the butter kit gin this time, an' a' the billies were harkenin' like onything.
"Freends an' fella ratepeyers," says Bandy again. "See gin that door's on the sneck, Sandy, an' dinna lat the can'le blaw oot."
Sandy raise an' put to the door, an' set the can'le alang nearer Bandy a bit, an' then sat doon i' the sofa again.