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Updated: June 7, 2025
He gaed aboot a' Sabbath rale dementit like; an', i' the efternune, I cam' in upon him i' the back shop dancin' on the tap o' a seek o' caff, an' sayin', "Ye'll poach neen this winter, ye " an' so on. Atween you an' me, it'll no' be a bawbee's-wirth o' stickin' plester that'll sair Pottie if Sandy gets his fingers ower him.
"Ay, you cam' in withoot chappin' on Setarday nicht, Sandy," I says, says I, at brakfast time on Munanday mornin', 'cause I saw fine he wantit to speak aboot it. "I'll do the chappin' when I get a grab o' Pottie Lawson," says Sandy.
He put them a' on; an' gyne what think you? Puir Sandy ac'ually sat doon an' claspit his hands, an' I heard him sayin', "I'm an awfu' eedeit, a pure provoke to a' 'at belangs me! but if I'm forgi'en this time, I'll try an' do better frae this day forrit. An' I'll gie Pottie Lawson a killin' that he'll no' forget in a hurry. He'll better waurro, if I get a haud o' him.
We'd never seen hint nor hair o' them here sin' syne; an' I'm shure they're a gude reddance. But wha shud turn up i' the washin'-hoose the ither nicht but Pottie! He'd gotten Dauvid Kenawee to speak to Sandy, an' gotten the thing sowdered up some wey or ither, an' there he was again, as brisk as a bee. But Sandy wasna that easy pacifeed.
Sandy landit cloit doon on the flure, an' sat sweitin', an' pechin', an' ac'ually greetin'. What a picture he presentit! I cudna tell ye a' what he said. There were a lot o' wirds amon't that's no' i' the dictionar'; an' I can tell ye, if Pottie Lawson an' Bandy Wobster get the half o' what Sandy promised them, baith in this world an' the next, they'll no hae far to find for a sair place.
"Dinna touch him, or he'll mittal some o' ye," says Bandy; an' the billies a' cleared awa' to the ither end o' the washin'-hoose. A' o' a sudden Sandy grippit an' auld roosty hewk that was lyin' on the boiler, an' roarin', "Whaur's Pottie Lawson, an' I'll cut his wizand till him," he made a flee at the door.
"As soond's a tap," says Bandy, an' he touched Sandy again an' stoppit the greetin'. "Noo, we'll see what like a job he wud mak' o' a speech at a ward meetin'," continued Bandy; an' he gae Sandy a slap on the shuder an' says, "Noo, Mester Bowden, we're at a ward meetin', an' you're stanin' for the Cooncil. There's Pottie Lawson in the chair, an' it's your turn to speak noo.
It's made Pottie fearder than ever; they tell me he's been looking efter a job at the Freek bleechin,, so as to get awa' oot o' the toon for a while. "Are ye there, Sandy? Sandy, are ye there? Sandy! I winder whaur that man'll be? He'll gae awa' an' leave the shop stanin' open to the street, as gin it were a byre, an' never think naething aboot it! Are ye there, Sandy?"
Pottie was juist in the middle o' a great hallach o' a lauch, when I grippit him by the collar. He swallowed the rest o' his lauch, I can tell you. "What hae ye dune till my man, ye nesty, clorty, ill-lookin', mischeevious footer?" I says, giein' him a shak' that garred him turn up the white o' his een.
Pottie took the yaird dyke at ae loup, an' landit richt on Mistress Mollison's back, an' sent her bung into the middle o' a lot o' Jacob's ledder 'at she has growin' in her yaird. She gaed clean oot o' sicht, an' juist lay an' roared till her man cam' oot an' helpit her into the hoose. "O, it's the deevil fleein' efter somebody," she said.
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