by W. W. Jacobs
XVI.
SANDY'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT.
Oh, wheesht! When Sandy's on for doin' something special, he nearhandaye mak's a gutter o't some wey or ither. On Setarday nicht he wasgaen aboot hostin', an' spittin', an' sayin' ilky noo an' than, "Ay,Bawbie; it's a fine nicht the nicht." He sweepit oot ahent the washin'soda barrel twa-three times; then he rowed up the tnock that ticht thatshe's never steered a meenit sin' syne. He took the hammer an' ca'd a'the coals fair into koom, an' then he redd up at the back shop till Icudna lay my hands on a single thing 'at I wantit. I saw fine therewas something i' the wind; but, do my best, I cudna jaloose what it was.
He put on the shop shutters, an' syne screwed aff the gas at the meeterafore I got the bawbees oot o' the till, an' stack in, ye never saw thelike. He was that anxious to gie me a hand that he hendered me nearhalf an 'oor.
This gaed on a' Sabbath! He was three times at the kirk, an' heroostit an' sang till the bit lassies i' the very koir lookit abootakinda feard like. But Sandy never jowed his jundie. He put inanither button o' his coat, an' stack in till the Auld Hunder like theJook o' Wellinton at the battle o' Waterloo. The koir sang an anthemi' the efternune, an' Sandy sang anither at the same time, the rest o'the fowk harkenin' to the competition. Sandy gaed squawlin' an'squawkin' up an' doon amon' the quivers, an' through the middle o' whathe ca'd the cruchits, juist like a young pairtrick amon' a pozel o'hag. Mistress Glendie, that sits at the tap o' oor seat, is a bit o' asinger, an' she put back her lugs an' skooled like a fountin' mule atSandy, oot at the corner o' her specks; but Sandy never lut dab. Hiseen, when he hadna his nose buried in his book, were awa' i' the roofo' the kirk, an' Mistress Glendie never got a squawk in ava, eksep whenSandy was swallowin' his spittal.
Gaen to the kirk at nicht was something to mind aboot. There wasna alamp to be seen--an' sic roads! The very laddies frae the SabbathSchule were gaen on the paidmint, whaur there were maist gutters, an'skowf kickin' them at ane anither. The middle o' the road cudna haudthe can'le to the paidmints for glaur lest Sabbath. Sandy an' me gaedkloiterin' alang the Port, Sandy yatterin' ilky noo-an'-than--"Keep onthe plennies, 'oman." He was keepin' his e'e on his feet that steady,that, afore I kent whaur I was, he had baith o's wammlin' aboot amon'the gutters doon the Dens. He'd taen the wrang side o' the dyke at thefit o' the High Road, an' awa' doon the brae instead o' up! We saw themuckle lamp up abune the brig juist like a lichthoose twenty mile awa'.Sandy was widin' aboot amon' the mud, an' his lorn shune liftin' wi' anoisy gluck, juist like a pump aff the fang.
"I think this is shurely the Sloch o' Dispond we've gotten intil,Bawbie," says he.
"It looks liker the Wardmill Dam," says I, I says; "but if I get ooto't livin', I'll lat the pileece hear o't. A gey Lichtin' Commitee wehave, to hae fowk wammlin' aboot i' the mirk like this on their wey tothe kirk! There's ower muckle keepin' fowk i' the dark a' roond," saysI, I says; "an' there maun be an end till't. It's a perfeck scandal."
Juist at this meenit Sandy got grips o' the railin' o' the stair, an'him an' me got ane anither trailed up some wey or ither. Gin I got onthe paidmint, I was slippin' here an' there like some lassie on theskeetchin' pond, till doon I skaikit, skloit on the braid o' my back,an' left my life-size engravin' i' the middle o' the road. Eh, it wasa gude thing I didna hae on my best frock! I shiftit at tea-time, forthae gutters mak' sic a dreedfu' mairter o' a body.
"It's a black, burnin' shame," says Sandy, as he gaithered me up; "an'I howp some o' thae Lichtin' Commitee chappies 'ill get a dook amon'the gutters the nicht for this pliskie o' theirs. It's a fine nichtfort. Fowk peyin' nae end o' rates, an' a' the streets as dark as acell--a sell it is, an' nae mistak'. Feech! I tell ye, what it is an'what it's no', Bawbie----"
"Wheesht, Sandy," says I. "Keep me, if ye go on rantin' like that, thefowk 'ill think ye've startit the street preachin'. Haud your langtongue. I'm no' michty muckle the waur."
Sandy took oot his tnife an' gae me a bit skrape; an' we landit at thekirk an' got a rale gude sermon aboot the birkie 'at belanged toSimaria an' fell on his road hame, an' so on. I wasna muckle the wauro't efter a'--o' the fa', I mean, of coorse, no' the sermon--an', whenwe got hame, I got aff my goon; an' tho' Sandy gae the Lichtin'Commitee an' the gutter-raikers a gey haf-'oor's throo the mill, Ididna think muckle mair aboot it.
But, as I was sayin', this was a' leadin' up to something. Sandy cudnasit still at nicht, an' he sang an' smokit till, atween bein' deavedan' scumfished, I was nearhand seek. Efter readin' oor chapter, I gaedawa' to my bed. I lookit up twa-three times an' saw Sandy sittin'afore the fire, twirlin' his thooms, an' gien a bit whistle noo an'than. Efter a while he put oot the gas, an' syne began to tak' aff hisclaes, an' wide aboot amon' the furniture as uswal. He got intil hisbed efter a quarter o' an oor's miscellaneous scramblin', an' was sunesnorin' like a dragoon.
When I got atower i' the mornin', what is there sittin' on my chair buta great muckle shortie in a braw box, wi' a Christmas caird on the tapo't. When I opened the box here's ane o' my stockin's lyin' on the tapo' a great big cake, juist like this:--
To B. BOWDEN from a F IEND
I lookit anower at Sandy, an' here's him lyin' wi' a look on his facelike's he was wantin' on the Parochial Buird.
"Eh, Sandy! What a man you are!" I says, says I; for, mind you, I wasa richt prood woman on Munanday mornin'.
"It was Sandy Claws, 'oman," says he, lauchin'. "He cudna get the boxinto your stockin', so he juist put your stockin' into the box. Butit's juist sax an' half a dizzen, I suppose."
I hude up the cake to the licht, an' read oot the braw white sugarletters--"'To B. Bowden from a Fiend.' But wha's the fiend, Sandy?"says I, I says.
"Fiend!" roared Sandy, jumpin' ooten his bed. "Lat's see't."
He glowered at the cake like's he was tryin' to mismerise somebody; an'then he says, "See a haud o' my troosers there, Bawbie. I'll go doonan' pet that baker through his mixin' machine. I'll lat him see whatkind o' a fiend I am. I'll fiend him."
"Hover a blink, Sandy," says I. "Here's ane o' the letters stickin' tomy stokin'." Shure eneuch, here was a great big "R" stickin' to theribs o' my stockin'; so I juist took a lickie glue an' stak her on thecake, an' made it read a' richt. Sandy was rale pleased when he saw meso big aboot my cake; an' he's been trailin' in aboot a' the neepers tosee "the wife's cake," as he ca's't. An' he stands wi' his thooms i'the oxter holes o' his weyscot, an' lauchs, an' says, "Tyuch; naethingava; no wirth speakin' aboot," when I tell them hoo big I am aboot it.
She's genna be broken on Munanday--Nooeer's-day. If you're pasain' oorwey, look in an' get a crummie. I'll be richt gled to see you, I'mshure. A happy noo 'ear to you, when it comes--an' mony may ye see!Ah-hy! Gude-day wi' ye i' the noo than! Imphm! Gude-day. See an'gie's a cry in on Munanday, noo-na. Ta-ta!
