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He didna say muckle, but I'll swag he gey Pottie a neg on Teysday nicht that he'll no forget in a hurry nether will Mistress Mollison. Mind ye, I didna think Sandy was so deep. It was a gey trick. Sandy was determined to pey aff Pottie in his ain coin, an' he had gotten Bandy Wobster to kollig wi' him to gie Lawson a richt fleg.
"Cud he gane in dookin' wi' them on?" thocht I to mysel'. I cudna see throo't ava. I gaed awa' to the shop door juist to look oot, an' I sees Pottie Lawson, Bandy Wobster, an' twa-three mair at the tap o' the street lauchin' like ony thing. I throo the key i' the door in a blink, an' up the street I goes.
"It's Pottie Lawson gane daft," said the laddies to the pileece. "He's foamin' at the moo." Efter an awfu' wey o' doin' they got Pottie haled oot o' the cellar an' hame; an' it's my opinion he'll never be seen in oor washin'-hoose again; an' I'm shure I'll no' brak' my heart. But aboot the can'le an' the ink you mibby winder hoo Sandy manished to stamack them. I gaed in an' smelt the ink.
Pottie gaed apung ower the barrow again, an' sat doon on the tap o' the Gairner, wha was busy gaitherin' up his gudes. "Come awa', Bawbie," says Dauvid, takin' a haud o' my airm, "Sandy 'ill turn up yet." So awa' we gaed, leavin' the fower or five o' them wammlin' awa' amon' the cabbitch, juist like what swine generally do when they get in amon' a gairner's stocks.
But Pottie sprang oot o' the coat it wasna ill to get ooten, puir chield an' doon the yaird a' he cud flee, wi' Sandy at his tail, whirlin' the hewk roond his heid, an' skreechin' like the very mischief. Bandy an' a' the rest cam' fleein' efter Sandy.
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.
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."
It was sugarelly watter, an' the can'le had been cut oot o' a neep an' laid juist whaur it was handy. Ye never heard sic lauchin' as there's been sin' the story eekit oot. Sandy's heid pillydakus amon' them a' noo, an' they think he's peyed aff Pottie wi' compound interest.
"Sandy's fair gyte aboot fitba' an' harryin' an' sic like ploys. Weel-a-weel, Pottie Lawson an' twa-three mair o' them got Sandy to mak' a wadger o' five bob that he wud rin three miles in twenty-five meenits oot the Sands, an' they tell me Sandy's been oot twa-three times trainin' himsel'. To mak' a lang story short Bandy Wobster gae me the particulars the race cam' aff the nicht.
"Juist you keep your moo steekit, Pottie," says Dauvid, "or I'll mibby be middlin' wi' you. You're a miserable pack o' vagues, a' the lot o' ye, to gae wa' an' tak' advantage o' an' auld man! Yah! Damish your skins, I cud thrash the whole pack o' ye." He up wi' his niv an' took a hawp forrit.
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