My Man Sandy

by W. W. Jacobs

  XVII.

  AT THE SELECT CHOIR'S CONCERT.

  Sin' Friday nicht I've been gaen aboot wi' my hert an' moo fu' o'musik! Eh, hoo I did enjoy yon Gleeka Koir's singin'. I hinna heardonything like it for mony a day. D'ye ken, fine musik juist affeks melike a gude preechin'--an' waur whiles. I canna help frae thinkin'aboot it. The tune I've been hearin' 'ill come into my heid at a'times; an' here I'll be maybe croonin' awa' i' the shop to mysel' "Willye no' come back again?" an' gien somebody mustard instead o' peysmeal,an', of coorse, it comes back again, an' a gey wey o' doin' wi't, an'nae mistak'.

  But, eh, I enjoyed the Burns Club concert! Sandy an' me was doon atthe hall on the back o' seven o'clock, an' we got set doon at the endo' ane o' the farrest-forrit sixpenny seats, an' got a lean on the backo' ane o' the shilliny anes. We was gey gled we gaed doon early, forthe hall was foo juist in a clap; an' gin aucht o'clock, Sandy tellsme, they were offerin' half-a-croon to get their lug to the keyhole.It was an awfu' crush.

  There was a gey pompis-like carlie cam' an' tried to birz Sandy an' meup the seat; but Sandy sune made a job o' him.

  "Have you a ticket?" says Sandy.

  "Ay, have I," says the carlie, curlin' up his lips gey snappish-like;"I have a three-shillin' ticket."

  "Ay, weel, awa' oot o' this," says Sandy. "This is the sikey seats,an' we dinna want ony o' you chappies poachin' amon' his lads. Ifyou've only a three-shilliny ticket, you'll awa' oot o' this, geysmert," says Sandy; an' a lot o' the fowk backit him up, an' faigs,mind ye, the carlie had to crawl awa' forrit again, whaur he cam' frae.The cheek o' the cratur! Thocht, mind ye, he wud get crushed in amon'his sikey fowk wi' his three-shilliny ticket!

  Whenever the singin' began ye wudda heard a preen fa'. "There was alad was born in Kyle," juist nearhand garred Sandy jump aff his seat.He cud hardly keep his feet still, an' he noddit his heid frae side toside, an' leuch, like's he was some noo-married king drivin' awa' throothe streets o' London till his honeymune. Syne at "My luve she's likea reed, reed rose," he smakit his lips, an' turned his een up to theruif, an' lookit to me twa-three times like's he was genna tak' a dwamo' some kind. That used to be a favourite sang o' Pecker Donnit's whenhe precentit up at Dimbarrow. Eh, mony's the time I've heard him atit. Ye'll mind fine o' the Peeker? He bade ower i' yon cottar hoose,wast a bittie frae the Whin Inn. He had twa dochters, ye'll mind, an'a he-cat that killed whitterits wi' a blind e'e. Eh, ay; that's mony alang day syne! But I'm awa' frae my story.

  I cudna tell ye which o' the bits I likeit best. I juist sat nearhanda' nicht fairly entranced. I thocht yon twa kimmers that sang "TheBanks an' Braes o' Bonnie Boon" did awfu' pritty. Raley, my hert wasi' my moo twa-three times when they were at the bitties whaur they sanglaich, juist like the sooch-soochin' o' the hairst wind i' theforenicht amon' the stocks. Sandy was sweengin' aboot in his seat,like's he was learnin' the velocipede, an' takin' a lang breath ilkynoo-an'-than, an' sayin', "Imphm; ay, man; juist that." He riffed whenthe lassies sat doon, till ye wud thocht he wudda haen his handsblistered; but I think he was gled o' onything to do, juist to lat himget himsel' gien vent.

  When the koir startit to sing aboot Willie Wastle, Sandy nickered awa'like a noo-spain'd foal, an' aye when they cam' to the henmist line o'the verse he gae me a prog i' the ribs wi' his elba, as much as to say,"That's ane for you, Bawbie!" But I watched him, an' at the henmistverse, when they said terriple quick, "I wudna gie a button for her," Ijuist edged alang a bittie, an' Sandy's elba missin', he juist exaklylandit pargeddis in a fisherwife's lap that was sittin' ahent's. Therewas plenty o' lauchin' an' clappin' whaur we was, I can tell ye.

  I likeit "Scots wha hae," an' the "Macgregor's Gaitherin'." I thochtyon was juist grand. When they were singin' "Scots wha hae," Sandyglowered a' roond aboot him like's he wudda likeit to ken if onybodywantit a fecht. What a soond there was at the strong bits. The feinta ane o' me kens whaur yon men an' weemin' get a' yon soond. At someo' the lines o' the "Macgregor's Gaitherin'" it was like the windthunderin' doon Glen Tanner, or the Rooshyan guns at Sebastypool. Icudna help frae notisin' hoo it garred a'body sit straucht up. Whenyon lassie was singin' sae bonnie, "John Anderson, my Jo," a' thefowk's heids were hingin'; but at "Scots wha hae" they sat up like lifegairds, and ilky body near me lookit like's it wudna be cannie speakin'to them.

  There was ae thing they sang that wasna on the programme that I thochtawfu' muckle o'. It was something aboot "Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!" Aneo' the lassies sang a bit hersel' here an' there, an' eh, what splendidit was. She gaed up an' doon amon' the notes juist like forkitlichtnin', an her voice rang oot as clear as a bell. It was raleysomething terriple pritty. When she feenished ye wudda thocht the fowkwas genna ding doon the hoose. "Man, that raley snecks a' green thing;it fair cowps the cairt ower onything ever I heard," says Sandy, gienhis nose a dicht wi' the back o' his hand. "That dame has raley agrand pipe; ye wud winder whaur she fand room for a' the wind she maunneed." A foll curn fowk startit to the lauchin' when Sandy said this;but, faigs, mind ye, the lassie fairly astonished me.

  When the votes o' thanks were gien oot, Sandy riffed an' rattled oot o'a' measure. I thocht ance or twice he wud be up to the pletform to saya wird or twa himsel', he was that excited. Syne when "Auld Lang Syne"was mentioned, he sprang till his feet, evened his gravat, pulled doonhis weyscot, put a' the buttons intil his coat, an' swallowed aspittal. An' hoo he tootit an' sang! I thocht the precentor that wasbeatin' time lookit across at him twa-three times, he was roostin' an'roarin' at sic a rate. He sang at the pitch o' his voice--

  Shud auld acquantance be forgot, An' never brocht to mind,

  an' syne gien me a great daud on the shuder wi' his elba, he says,"Sing quicker, Bawbie"--

  For the days o' auld langsyne.

  There was a fisher ahent's that strak' in wi' the chorus an' made an'awfu' gutter o't. He yalpit awa' a' on ae note, juist like's he wasroarin' to somebody to lowse the penter; an' though Sandy keepit gaen,he was in a richt raise.

  "That roarin' nowt's juist makin' a pure soss o't," he says, when wefinished. "Ye wud easy ken he had learned his singin' at the sea"; an'he glowered roond at him gey ill-natir'd like, an' says, "Haud yourtung, ye roarin' cuif." Syne he grippit the fisher's hand wi' ane o'his, an' mine wi' the ither, an' startit--

  An' here's a hand, my trusty fraend, eksettera.

  The fisher lookit gey dumfoondered like, an' never lut anither peek;but Sandy stack in like a larry-horse till the feenish, an' he cam'hame a' the road sayin', "Man, that's raley been a treat!"

  It was that, an' nae mistak', an' as the chairman said, it'll be amemorable concert to mony a ane.