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Updated: May 8, 2025
"That'll be whaur Bandy gets a' his gab," says I. "I think, Sandy," I says, says I, "that you've mair need to learn something to garr you haud your tongue. You've nae need for learnin' to speak, weel-a-wat, excep' it be to speak sense; an' I dinna suppose gomitry 'ill do you ony guid that wey. It's made but a puir job o' Bandy Wobster, at onyrate." "That's a' you ken, Bawbie," says Sandy.
It's a gude thing they're broken up at onyrate. I'm in the Collie Park, an' they're the only club that cud lick his lads." "O, that's a' richt," says Sandy; an' awa' he gaed, as pleased as you like.
At onyrate, if she didna' ken then she kens noo, I'll warrant." "Not so far as I am concerned, certainly." Mungo looked incredulous. That any one should let go the chance of conveying so rare a piece of gossip to persons so immediately concerned was impossible of belief. "Na, na," said he, shaking his head; "she has every word o't, or her faither at least, and that's the same thing.
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