by W. W. Jacobs
VIII.
SANDY AND THE RHUBARB TART.
Was ever a woman so provokit wi' a ramstam, dotrifeed gomeral o' a man?Sandy Bowden 'ill hae me i' my grave yet afore my time, as share's I'ma livin' woman. There's no' a closed e'e for me this nicht; an'there's Sandy awa' till his bed wi' his airms rowed up in bits o' anauld yellow-cotton apron o' Mistress Mikaver's mither's. Eh, sirce me;an' me was so happy no' mony 'oors syne!
We gaed awa' to hae a cup o' tea wi' Mistress Mikaver--that's thescone-baker's widow, ye ken. Her auldest laddie's been awa' oot amon'the Reed Indians, or some o' thae ither lang-haired, naked fowk 'atnever wash themsel's; an' they say he's made a heap o' bawbees. He's asnod bit stockie--a little beld, an' bowd-leggit, an' wants a thoom.But, I'll swag, the young kimmers that were at the pairty didna seemuckle wrang wi' him. There was as keen competition for him amon' thelassies as gin he'd been a gude-gaen public-hoose puttin' up forunction.
Me an' Sandy landed amon' the first o' the fowk. A'thing was richtsnod, I assure ye. Mistress Mikaver had the stair noo whitened, an'every stap was kaumed an' sandit, ye never saw the like. An' there shewas hersel' wi' her best black goon on, no' a smad to be seen on't, an'her lace kep an' beady apron. She was a dandy, an' nae mistak'.
Afore Sandy got up the stair he manished to mairter the feck o' hisSabbath claes wi' the whitenin'; an' I was akinda feard MistressMikaver micht mistak' him for the scone-baker's ghost. But we got himmade gey snod, an' syne we gaed inby to the ben-hoose fireside, an' hada crack wi' young Aleck. That's the son's name. Sandy an' him gotstarted aboot mustaings, an' Indeens, an' boomirangs, an' scoots an'ither scoondrils, till I cudna be deaved ony langer wi' their forrinblethers; so ben to but-the-hoose I gaed to hae a twa-handit crack wi'Aleck's mither.
When I opened the door, here's as mony lassies as wudda startit a noomill. They'd been a' deckin' themsel's but-the-hoose afore they cam'ben to see Aleck, d'ye see? He made himsel' rale frank, an' speer'dfor a' their mithers, an' a'thing; an' then we got roond the ben-hoosetable, an' had a fine game at the totum for cracknets.
Sandy juist got gey pranky, as uswal, afore he was lang startit. He'saye the same when he gets amon' young lassies, the auld ass 'at he is.
"T tak's them a' but ane," he roared in the middle o' the game; an' hegrippit up a nivfu' o' the crack-nets, an' into his moo wi' them. Hiseen gaed up intil his heid, an' gin I hadna gien him a daud i' theback, that garred the nets flee oot o' his moo a' ower tha table, he'dbeen a chokit korp in a meenit or twa, juist as shure's the morn'sSetarday.
But little did I think what was afore's! Gin I'd kenned, I'd lattenhim chok, the mairterin' footer 'at he is.
We a' gaed awa' doon the yaird aboot half-past seven, to see a noohenhouse 'at Aleck had been tarrin' that efternune. He maun be a handyearl, mind ye.
"Tak' care o' your frocks, for that tar's weet yet," says Aleck to thelassies.
"Ay, man, so it is," says Sandy, takin' a slaik o't aff wi' hisfingers, an' syne dichtin't on the tail o' his sirtoo, the nestycharacter, 'at I shud say sic a wird!
"Man, Aleck," says Sandy, when we were a' on the green juist takin' alook roond aboot's, "it looks juist like the streen that you sat up 'onthat very tree there, an' pappit Gairner Winton wi' oslins that you'dstealt ooten his ain gairden. I mind I was here when he cam' doon totell your father aboot your ongaens. You was a wild tyke o' a laddie,I can tell ye. Your father gae you an awfu' paikin'; but fient a hairdid you care. He wasna weel dune tannin' you when you was roarin''Hairy Grozers'--that was a by-name o' the Gairner's--in at Winton'sshop door. You was a roid loon."
Aleck took a richt herty lauch at Sandy's blethers, an' the twa o' themwere juist thick an' three-faud afore they were half-an-'oor thegither.Yet wudda thocht they'd kent ane anither sin' ever they were doakit.
Gin we cam' back, Aleck's mither had a fine supper a' ready on thetable. She had a can'le here an' there, an' pucklies o' chuckinwirthan' persly scattered roond the rob-roys. It was awfu' nice. It wouldraley garred ye think ye was amon' braw fowk. I was juist sittin'admirin't when Aleck says, "Ay, then, are ye a' ready?"
We had to hover a blink till Mistress Mikaver ran ben the hoose for aknife to Mey Mershell.
"Mester Bowden 'ill say the grace noo," says Aleck; an' Sandy was onhis feet like the shot o' a gun, hostin' to clear his throat. Idreedit he wud mak' a gutter o't somewey or ither, an' so I keepit myeen open. Sandy shut his, an' so did a' the rest. He leaned forritan' spread oot the muckle clunkers o' hands o' him on the tap o' thepeat o' a big roobarb tert. "O Lord," was a' the len'th he'd gotten,when in he gaed, up near to the elbas amon' the het roobarb; an' by a'the skoilin' an' roarin' ever I heard, there never was the like! A geygrace it was, I can tell ye! It'll no' be the morn nor next day 'atI'll forget it. He roared an' yowled like I kenna what, an'black-gairded reed-het roobarb terts, till I thocht he wudda opened thevery earth.
"O, haud your tongue, Sandy Bowden!" I cried, my very heid like to rivewi' his yalpin'.
"Haud my tongue?" says he. "Hoo can I haud my tongue, an' my airmsstewin' amon' boilin' jeelie?"
Juist at this meenit Aleck aff wi' Sandy's coat syne he but the hoosewi' him an' garred him shove his airms ower the heid in his mither'sfloor pock. It deidened the pain in a wink, an' efter a whilie we gotthe airms rowed up. I cudna gae ben to bid the ither fowk guid-nicht,my hert was that sair; an' Sandy was hingin' his heid like a sick dog.Puir man, he has mibby mair than me to thole; but I wudda gien afive-pound note 'at I hadna left my ain hoose this nicht. I'll awa' tomy bed, for my hert's perfeckly i' my moo.
