"I was genna say," said Bandy, "when I was interrupit by the honourable gentleman——"
"O, gie's a rest," said Watty; an' Bandy had to begin again.
"I was genna say," he said, "that we maun get a hand o' a puckle men o' abeelity an' straucht-forritness, an' I have much pleasure in proposin' a vote of thanks to oor worthy freend, Mester Bowden, for comin' forrit to abolish the Toon Cooncil o' every rissim o' imposeeshin, till taxation shall vanish into oblivion, an' be a thing o' the past. Mester Bowden is a man——"
"Hear, hear," says Watty again.
"Mester Bowden is a man that will never do onything——"
"Hear, hear," Watty stricks in again. He juist yatter-yattered awa' like a parrot a' the time.
"Onything below the belt," proceeded Bandy. "Give him your votes, gentlemen. I can recommend him. Sandy—I mean Mester Bowden, will stick to his post like Cassybeeanka, or whatever they ca'd the billie that was brunt at the battle o' the Nile. He'll no' be like some o' them that, like Ralph the Rover,
Sailed away,
An' scoored the sea for mony a day.
Gentlemen, let everywan here do his very best to get every elektor to vote for Sandy, Mester Bowden, the pop'lar candidate. Up wi' him to the tap o' the poll!"
Bandy cam' doon wi' his tackety buit on the boddom o' the butter kit, an' in it gaed, an' him wi't, an' there he was, clappin' his hands, an' stanin' juist like's he'd on a wid crinoline. You never heard sic a roostin' an' roarin' an' hear-hearin' an' hurrain'! I had to shut my een for fear o' bein' knokit deaf a'thegither. Stumpie Mertin jumpit up as spruce as gin he had baith his legs, instead o' only ane, an' forgettin' whaur he was, he glowered a' roond the wa' an' says, "Whaur's the bell, lads?"