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"There's mair in Bandy than the spune pets in; mind I'm tellin' you. He was tellin's aboot some o' the exyems in gomitry lest nicht, an', I'll swag, he garred Cocky Baxter, the auld dominie, chowl his chafts." "Exyems!" says I. "Is that the same as exy-oey we used to play at on oor sklates at the skule?" "No, no, no, no, no," says Sandy. "What are you haiverin' aboot, Bawbie?
"Dinna mistak' yersel'," says Bandy in laich, "when that cove's gotten on his feet he'll no' sit doon for half an 'oor. I never saw him get up yet but he gae a'body mair than their sairin' o' sooage, an' main-drains, an' gas-warks, an' so on afore he feenisht. Wait till you see." "Haud your haiverin' tongue," said Sandy. "Bliss your heart, he's in the magic lantern. He canna speak there."
"A 'm dootin', Miss Carnegie, the gude-wife hes keepit ye ower lang in the gairden haiverin' awa' aboot the flooers an' her ither trokes. But she 's michty prood for a' that aboot yir comin' up tae veesit us." Such was the second conference on Kate's affairs on that day.
"Tak' the back door o' the cairt, for instance. The back door's only a bit o' the cairt, isn't? Weel, than, shurely the cairt's bigger than the back door." "You're haiverin' perfeck buff," says I. "The back door's juist exakly the same size as the cairt, or you wud never get it fessend on. Ony bairn kens that, gomitry or no gomitry."
I raley thocht, mind you, the wey the cratur was haiverin', that he wantit tippence i' the shillin'. "I wad juist like you to hear ane o' oor debates, an' you'd cheenge your opinion," says Sandy. "Bandy promised to tell's something the morn's nicht aboot the postylate in gomitry. I juist wiss you heard him."
Weel, Sandy had been speakin' aboot his fairntickles to Saunders Robb. Saunders, in my opinion, is juist a haiverin' auld ass. He's a hoddel-dochlin', hungert-lookin' wisgan o' a cratur; an', I'm shure, he has a mind to match his body. There's naethin' he disna ken aboot an', the fac' is, he kens naething. He's aye i' the wey o' improvin' ither fowk's wark.
I can pet up wi' the melodian or the concertina; but yon triangle thing I wudna hae i' the hoose. You can tell Bandy Wobster he can keep his triangles for his parrots swingin' on. We want neen o' them here." "Tut, Bawbie, 'oman," says Sandy, "you're juist haiverin' straucht forrit. It's no' flute band triangles I mean ava. It's the anes you see in books a' shapes an' sizes, ye know.
I feel'd within mysel', that if I'd only haen the chance see 'at that reed herrin's no' burnin' I michta been a dreel sergint or a general " "A general haiverin' ass," I strak in. "See; there's your herrin'; poor oot your tea noo, an' haud your lang tongue."
You mind I tell'd you the exyem aboot things bein' equal to ane anither when they're equal to some ither thing that's equal to the things that are equal to ane anither?" "I mind aboot you haiverin' awa' some nonsense o' that kind," says I; an', as fac's ocht, I cud hardly haud frae lauchin' at the droll look on Sandy's face.
He's an awfu' haiverin' body the Smith sometimes. When he's sensible, he's juist akinda ridic'lously sensible; an' when he's' no', he's juist as far the ither wey. "Deputations is aye anonimous," says Sandy. "They aye turn up wi' a nomdy plum. It's juist the men's modesty that keeps them oot o' sicht. They pey a' their veesits throo the nicht, an' fient a cratur kens eechie or ochie aboot them.
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