My Man Sandy

by W. W. Jacobs

  X.

  SANDY AND HIS FAIRNTICKLES.

  There's twa things Sandy Bowden's haen sin' ever I got acquant wi'him--an' that's no' the day nor yesterday--that's fairntickles an'cheepin' buits. I never kent Sandy bein' withoot a pair o''lastic-sided buits that gaed squakin' to the kirk like twa croakin'hens. I've seen the fowk sometimes turn roond-aboot in their seats,when Sandy cam' creakin' up the passage, as gin they thocht it was abrass-band comin' in. But Sandy appears to think there's somethingreverint an' Sabbath-like in cheepin' buits, an' he sticks to them,rissen be't or neen. I can tell ye, it's a blissin' there's no' monymair like him, or we'd hae gey streets on Sabbath. The noise themaitter o' twenty chields like Sandy cud mak' wi' their buit soles wudfair deave a hale neeperhude.

  Hooever, it wasna Sandy's buits I was to tell you aboot; it was mynain. But afore I say onything aboot them, I maun tell you aboot thefairntickles. As I was sayin', Sandy's terriple fairntickled aboot theneck an' the sides o' the nose, an' oor lest holiday made him a hankiewaur than uswal. He's a gey prood mannie too, mind ye, although hewinna haud wi't. But I can tell you it's no a bawbee-wirth o' hair oilthat sairs Sandy i' the week. But that's nether here nor there.

  Weel, Sandy had been speakin' aboot his fairntickles to Saunders Robb.Saunders, in my opinion, is juist a haiverin' auld ass. He's ahoddel-dochlin', hungert-lookin' wisgan o' a cratur; an', I'm shure, hehas a mind to match his body. There's naethin' he disna kenaboot--an', the fac' is, he kens naething. He's aye i' the wey o'improvin' ither fowk's wark. There's naethin' Saunders disna think hecould improve, excep' himsel' mibby. I canna be bathered wi' thechatterin', fykie, kyowowin' little wratch. He's aye throwin' ootsuggestions an' hints aboot this and that. He's naething but asuggestion himsel', an' I'm shure I cud of'en throw him oot, wi' richtgude will.

  Weel, he'd gien Sandy some cure for his fairntickles, an' Sandy,unbekent to me, had gotten something frae the druggie an' mixed it upwi' a guid three-bawbee's-wirth o' cream that I had in the upstairspress. He had rubbit it on his face an' neck afore he gaed till hisbed; but he wasna an 'oor beddit when he had to rise. An' sik a sichtas he was! His face an' neck were as yellow's mairyguilds, an'yallower; an' though I've taen washin' soda, an' pooder, an' the veryscrubbin' brush till't, Sandy's gaen aboot yet juist like's he was noooot o' the yallow fivver an' the jaundice thegither.

  "Ye'll better speer at Saunders what'll tak' it aff," says I till himthe ither mornin'.

  "If I had a grip o' Saunders, I'll tak' mair than the fairntickles affhim," says he; an' faigs, mind you, there's nae sayin' but he may do't;he's a spunky carlie Sandy, when he's raised.

  But, as far as that's concerned, I'm no' sorry at it, for it'll keepthe cratur awa' frae the place. Sin' Sandy put that sofa into thewashin'-hoose, him an' twa-three mair's never lain oot o't. Lyin'smokin' an' spittin' an' crackin' aboot life bein' a trauchle, an' soon! I tell you, if it had lested muckle langer, I'd gien them a bucketo' water sweesh aboot their lugs some day; that's juist as fac's ocht.

  But I maun tell you aboot my mischanter wi' my noo buits. I'm sure ithas fair delighted Sandy. He thinks he's gotten a hair i' my neck noothat'll haud him gaen a while. He was needin't, I can tell you. Ifilky mairter he's made had been a hair in his neck, I'll swag, therewudna been room for mony fairntickles.

  Weel, I gaed awa' to the kirk lest Sabbath--Sandy, of coorse, cudna getoot wi' his yallow face an' neck. He had a bran poultice on't to seeif it wud do ony guid. I canna do wi' noo buits ava, till I've wornthem a while. I pet them on mibby to rin an errand or twa, till theyget the set o' my fit, an' syne I can manish them to the kirk. But Icanna sit wi' noo buits; they're that uneasy. I got a noo pair lestFursday, an' tried them on on Sabbath mornin'. But na, na! Altho' myauld anes were gey binkit, an' worn doon at the heels, I juist put themon gey hurried, an' aff I set to the kirk, leavin' Sandy to look efterthe denner.

  I was feelin' akinda queerish when I startit; but I thocht it was juistthe hurry, an' that a breath o' the caller air wud mak' me a' richt.But faigs, mind ye, instead o' better I grew waur. My legs were liketo double up aneth me, an' my knees knokit up acrain' ane anitherlike's they'd haen a pley aboot something. I fand a sweit brakin' oota' ower me, an' I had to stop on the brae an' grip the railin's, or,it's juist as fac's ocht, I wudda been doon i' the road on the braid o'my back. I thocht I was in for a roraborialis, or some o' thaeterriple diseases. Eh, I was feard I wud dee on the open street; I wasthat! Mysie Meldrum noticed me, an' she cam' rinnin' to speer what wasado.

  "I've taen an awfu' dwam, Mysie," says I. "I think I'm genna dee. Yemicht juist sit doon on the railin's aside's till the fowk be by."

  "I think we're aboot the henmost, Bawbie," says she. "We're gey late;but I'll bide aside you, lassie."

  We sat for the maitter o' ten meenits, an' I got akinda roond, an'thocht I wud try an' get hame. Mistress Kenawee had putten on hertatties an' come oot for a dander a bittie, an' noticed the twa o's; soshe cam' up, an' I got her airm an' Mysie's, an', though it was a geyjob, we manished to get hame. An' gled I was when I saw Sandy's yallownose again, I can tell ye, for I was shure syne I wud dee at hame amon'my nain bed-claes.

  "The Lord preserve's a'!" says Mysie when she saw Sandy. "What i' thename o' peace has come ower you? I'll need to go! I've Leeb's bairnsat hame, you see, an' this is the collery or the renderpest orsomething come ower you twa, an' I'm feard o' smittin' the bairns, or Iwudda bidden. As shure's I live, I'll need to go!" an' she vanisht ootat the door wi' a face as white's kauk.

  "I think I'll rin for the doctor, Bawbie," said Mistress Konawee. Shekent aboot Sandy's fairntickles afore, of coorse, an' Sandy's yallowfizog didna pet her aboot.

  "Juist hover a blink," says I, "till I see if I come to mysel'."

  I sat doon in the easy-chair, an' Sandy was in a terriple wey aboot me.He cudna speak a wird, but juist keepit sayin', "O dinna dee, Bawbie,dinna dee; your denner's ready!" He lookit me up an' doon, an' thenbooin' doon till he was for a' the world juist like a half-steekitknife 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 twentymeenits past echt. You're shurely no genna tak' a parrylattick stroke."

  I lookit doon, an' shure eneuch my taes were turned oot an' curledroond like's they were gaen awa' back ahent my heels. Mistress Kenaweegot doon on her knees aside me.

  "Preserve's a', Bawbie," says she; "you have your buits on the wrangfeet! Nae winder than your knees were knokin' thegither wi' thae auldworn-doon heels turned inside, an' your taes turned oot."

  But I'll better no' say nae mair aboot it. I was that angry; andMistress Kenawee, the bissam, was like to tnet hersel' lauchin'; but; Iashure ye, I never got sik a fleg in my life--an' sik simple dune too,mind ye.