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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Auch, Bawbie, ye're juist haverin' like some auld aipplewife," says Sandy. "That's no' the kind o' pattern I mean;" an' awa' he gaed for the Herald an' turned up a bit noos I never noticed, sayin' that "Alexander Bowden, Esq., had been elected patron of the Cauliflower C.C., and had contributed handsomely to the funds of the club." "Oo ay!
Oh, whaur are ye, Bawbie?" "Wha i' the earth is he, or what's ado wi' him?" I heard somebody speer. "Gude kens," said anither voice. "It's shurely some milkman wi' the bloo deevils." "Milkman! What wud a milkman do wi' an umberell, a portmanty, an' a lum hat?" Juist at that meenit Sandy cam' fleein' alang the passage again, an' by this time a' the fowk in the hotel were oot on the stairs.
"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 "
When the koir startit to sing aboot Willie Wastle, Sandy nickered awa' like a noo-spain'd foal, an' aye when they cam' to the henmist line o' the verse he gae me a prog i' the ribs wi' his elba, as much as to say, "That's ane for you, Bawbie!"
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.
Gin daylicht brook, Dauvid an' me had gotten the twa o' them akinda into order, and Sandy was able to open the shop. He had an awfu' ruggin' an' tuggin' afore he cud get the door to open; an' he cam' into me an' says, "Dod, Bawbie, I think the hoose has gotten a terriple thraw. The shop door 'ill nether go back nor forrit!" I gaed oot to see what was ado.
I wiss I cud juist get hauds o' the Bible on the drawers-heid, Bawbie. Did ye hear the mountins an' the rocks beginnin' to fa'?" "Come awa' 'oot ablo there, Sandy," I says, says I, "an' no' get your death o' cauld, an' be gaen aboot deavin fowk wi' you an' your reums.
Syne he cowshined doon a bittie, an' says, wi' a bit snicker o' a lauch, "I maun hae you tried wi' the pond's ass anowerim." "An wha micht he be?" says I. "That's the fift proposition, Bawbie," says Sandy. "It's ca'ed the pond's ass anowerim. That's Latin for the cuddy's brig. If you canna get ower't, you're set down for an ass." "Have you been ower't, Sandy?" I says, says I.
"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!
He lookit me up an' doon, an' then booin' doon till he was for a' the world juist like a half-steekit knife he roars oot, "What's ado wi' your feet, Bawbie? Look at them! Your taes are turned oot juist like the hands o' the tnock, at twenty meenits past echt. You're shurely no genna tak' a parrylattick stroke."
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