Tammas put his foot on the pail.
“I tak no credit,” he said modestly, on the evening, I remember, of Willie Pyatt’s funeral, “in bein’ able to speak wi’ a sort o’ faceelity on topics ’at I’ve made my ain.”
“Aye,” said T’nowhead, “but it’s no faceelity o’ speakin’ ’at taks me. There’s Davit Lunan ’at can speak like as if he had learned if aff a paper, an’ yet I canna thole ’im.”
“Davit,” said Hendry, “doesna speak in a wy ’at a body can follow ’im. He doesna gae even on. Jess says he’s juist like a man aye at the cross-roads, an’ no sure o’ his way. But the stock has words, an’ no ilka body has that.”
“If I was bidden to put Tammas’s gift in a word,” said T’nowhead, “I would say ’at he had a wy. That’s what I would say.”
“Weel, I suppose I have,” Tammas admitted, “but, wy or no wy, I couldna put a point on my words if it wasna for my sense o’ humour. Lads, humour’s what gies the nip to speakin’.”
“It’s what maks ye a sarcesticist, Tammas,” said Hendry; “but what I wonder at is yer sayin’ the humorous things sae aisy-like. Some says ye mak them up aforehand, but I ken that’s no true.”
“No, only is’t no true,” said Tammas, “but it couldna be true. Them ’at says sic things, an’ weel I ken you’re meanin’ Davit Lunan, hasna nae idea o’ what humour is. It’s a thing ’at spouts oot o’ its ain accord. Some o’ the maist humorous things I’ve ever said cam oot, as a body may say, by themselves.”
“I suppose that’s the case,” said T’nowhead; “an’ yet it maun be you ’at brings them up?”
“There’s no nae doubt about its bein’ the case,” said Tammas; “for I’ve watched mysel’ often. There was a vera guid instance occurred sune after I married Easie. The earl’s son met me one day, aboot that time, i’ the Tenements, an’ he didna ken ’at Chirsty was deid, an’ I’d married again. ‘Well, Haggart,’ he says, in his frank wy, ‘and how is your wife?’ ‘She’s vera weel, sir,’ I maks answer, ‘but she’s no the ane you mean.’”