It was Sandy's turn noo; an' efter Dauvid Kenawee, auld Geordie Steel, an' Moses Certricht had gotten the chairman pu'd oot o' the butter kit, an' on to the boiler-heid again, Sandy raise ooten his seat wi' a look on his face like a nicht watchman. They a' swang their airms roond their heids, an' hurraed like onything, an' Sandy took lang breaths, an' lookit roond him as gin he was feard some o' them wud tak' him a peelik i' the lug.
When they quieted doon, Sandy gae a host, an' Watty Finlay said, "Hear, hear."
"Fella elektors," said Sandy, "let me thank you for your cordial reception."
Sandy had haen that ready aforehand, for he said her aff juist like "Man's Chief End." Syne he lifted his fit an' put it on the edge o' the sofa. He rested his elba on his knee, an' his chin on his hand, an' lookit quite at hame, like's he'd been accustomed addressin' meetin's a' his born days.
"I think oor worthy chairman spoke ower high aboot my abeelity," said Sandy; "but as far as lies in my pooer, I will never budge from my post, but stand firm." At this point, Sandy's fit slippit aff the edge o' the sofa, an' he cam' stoit doon an' gae Moses Certricht a daud i' the lug wi' the croon o' his heid, that sent Moses' heid rap up again' Dauvid Kenawee's.
"What i' the world are ye heavin' aboot that heid o' yours like that for?" said Dauvid, glowerin' like a wild cat at Moses: an' Bandy kickit his heels on the front o' the boiler, an' roared, "Order, gentlemen. Respeck the chair!"
I was juist away to cry—"Ye micht respeck my boiler, raither, an' no' kick holes i' the plester wi' thae muckle clunkers o' heels o' yours"; but I keepit it in.
Sandy got himsel' steadied up again, an' pulled doon his weyscot, syne gae his moo a dicht, an' buttoned his coat. I cud see fine that he was tryin' to keep up the English; but it wasna good enough. "I am no' a man o' learnin'," said Sandy. "I'm a wirkin' man, an' if I tak' up my heid wi' publik affairs, it's 'cause I've naething else ado, and it'll keep me oot o' langer. As oor respeckit chairman says, I'm no' like Ralph the Rover, sailin' awa' an' scoorin' the sea for mony a day. That looks like a pure weyst o' soap—juist like what goes on i' the Toon Cooncil daily-day. You may lauch, freends, but it's ower true; an' wha is't peys for't?"
"It's his! It's his, lads!" roared a' the billies i' the washin'-hoose.
"It is so," said Sandy. "Oor Toon Cooncil's juist like this Ralph the Rover, gaen awa' scoorin' the sea for nae end—for the sea's no' needin' scoorin'—when he michta been at hame helpin' his wife to ca' the washin'-machine. It's usef'u' wark we want. Neen o' your Bailie Thingymabob's capers, wi' his donkey engines, eksettera. Echt thoosand pound for a noo kirkyaird! Did ye ever hear the like! What aboot the grand view you get? A puckle o' thae Cooncillors crack as gin they were genna pet bow-windas into a' the graves, to lat ye hae a grand view efter you was buried. Blethers o' nonsense! That's juist what I ca' scoorin' the sea like Ralph the Rover."