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He wasna fower meenits awa' when the lot o' the dirty deevils that I shud ca' them sic a name gaithered up Sandy's claes an' cam' their wa's in the road, leavin' Sandy to get hame the best wey he cud. Bandy Wobster gae the claes to Nathan at the tap o' the street, an' tell'd him he fand them on the Sands." "But whaur'll Sandy be?" says I.
"It's a black, burnin' shame," says Sandy, as he gaithered me up; "an' I howp some o' thae Lichtin' Commitee chappies 'ill get a dook amon' the gutters the nicht for this pliskie o' theirs. It's a fine nicht fort. Fowk peyin' nae end o' rates, an' a' the streets as dark as a cell a sell it is, an' nae mistak'. Feech! I tell ye, what it is an' what it's no', Bawbie "
Lat's hear ye gie them a gude screed on the topiks of the day." Sandy gae a bit hauch, an' swallowed a spittal, an' stappin' forrit a bittie, began "Mester Chairman " He gae Pottie a glower that nearhand knokit him aff the box he was sittin' on. "Mester Chairman," says he, "we are gaithered thegither to meet wan anither as fella ratepayers. If you want a tip-top cooncillor, I'm your man.
Ye micht get Mistress Kenawee to look efter the shop for an 'oor or twa, an' come ootbye, Bawbie." Ay, weel, to mak' a lang story short, Sandy an' me got ootbye to the Wast Common on Setarday efternune; an' awa we gaed up to a corner o' the Common whaur there was aboot a hunder loons gaithered. The loonie that they ca'd the captain cam' forrit.
"A gran' feast was gotten ready, an' jist the meenute afore it was cairriet to the ha', the great bell o' the castel yowlt oot, an' a' the fowk o' the hoose was gaithered i' the coortyaird, an' oot cam the twa afore them, han' in han', declarin' themsel's merried fowk, the whilk, accordin' to Scots law, was but ower guid a merriage.
When he got himsel' gaithered oot amon' the peycods an' cabbitch, he was genna be at me, but Dauvid Kenawee stappit forrit, an' says he, "Saira ye richt, ye gude-for-naething snipe 'at ye are. Lift a hand till her, an' I'll ca' the chafts o' ye by ither." "What bisness hae you shuvin' your nose in?" says Pottie Lawson. "There was naebody middlin' wi' you."
"Man, gin ye'd haen the brains o' a cock spug," I heard him sayin' till himsel', "ye michta jaloosed they were to play ye some prank. You muckle, dozent gozlin'," he says; an' he took himsel' a skelp i' the side o' the heid wi' his open luif that near ca'd him on his back. In his stagger his feet tickled amon' his claes, an' he gaithered them up, an' lookit fair dumfoondered like.
"An' will you lat me get a ride on the dickie at the bural, Bawbie?" says Nathan, clawin' his heid throo a hole in his glengairy. "Haud your tongue, laddie," says I; "ye dinna ken what you're speakin' aboot." I gaithered up the claes. There was nae mistakin' them. They were Sandy's!