"Hear, hear," says Watty again; an' oot the entry they a' merched withoot a wird. If I'm no mista'en that'll be the end o' Sandy's Toon Cooncillin'; an' time till't, I think. The man's no' wyse to think aboot ony sic thing. Perfeckly ridic'lous!
Sandy an' me were oot the Sands enjoyin' a bit walk juist yesterday efternune, an' we were dreedfu' quiet. There didna appear to be onything to speak aboot ava. So I juist said in a kind o' jokey wey, "Ay, Sandy, an' hae ye seen the Ward Committee yet, laddie, aboot that Toon Cooncil bisness."
As shure's ocht, he grew reed i' the face; but he got richt efter a whilie, an' he says, "We're genna be like the Skule Brod efter this, Bawbie. We'll hae oor meetin's in private, an' juist lat you an' the publik ken aboot bits o' things ya can mak' naething o'. D'ye see? If ye pet your nose in aboot ony bolies harkenin', you'll mibby get the wecht o' a bissam shaft on the end o't. That'll learn ye to slooch an' harken to ither fowk's bisness."
"Keep me!" says I, I says. "Ye're terriple peppery the nicht, Sandy. Wha's been straikin' you against the hair, cratur? It wasna me that shuved Bandy i' the boiler; but he'd been neen the waur o' a bit steep, for he trails aboot a clorty-like sicht. Him speak aboot the watter supply! It's no' muckle he kens aboot the watter supply, or the soap supply ether."
"Look here, Bawbie," says Sandy, "if you're genna rag me ony mair aboot that, it's as fac's ocht, I'll rin awa' an' join the mileeshie. I wud raither be blawn into minch wi' an' echty-ton gun than stand ony mair o' your gab."
"Tut, tut, Sandy," says I, "keep on your dickie, man. Ye're no' needin' to get into a pavey like that. Keep me, fowk wud think ye was discussin' the auld kirk questin, the wey you're roarin'. The mileeshie wudna hae you at ony rate, an' we're no' juist dune wi' ye at hame yet. But neist time you're makin' a speech, Sandy, dinna try an' stand on ae leg. That's what put ye aff the straucht. Ye see——"
I lookit roond, an' Sandy wasna there. When I turned, here's him fleein' in the Sands wi' his fingers in his lugs, like spring-heeled Jeck. I tell ye, that man winna heed a single wird I say till him.