My Man Sandy

by W. W. Jacobs

  XVIII.

  SANDY RUNS A RACE.

  Weel, I'll tell ye what it is, an' what it's no'--I thocht the ithernicht that Sandy had gotten to the far end o' his ongaens. If ever awoman thocht she was genna hae to don her weeda's weeds, it was me. Inever expeckit to see Sandy again, till he was brocht in on the policestreetchin' buird. But I'll better begin my story at the beginnin'.What needs I care whuther fowk kens a' aboot it, or no'? I've beenblack affrontit that often, I dinna care a doaken noo what happens.I've dune my best to be a faithfu' wife; an' I'm shure I've trauchledawa' an' putten up wi' a man that ony ither woman wudda pushon'd twenty'ear syne! But that's nether here nor there.

  Weel, to get to my story. Aboot a week syne I was busy at the backdoor, hingin' oot some bits o' things, an', hearin' some din i' theback shop, I took a bit glint in at the winda. Fancy my surprise, whenhere's Sandy i' the middle o' the flure garrin' his airms an' legs fleelike the shakers o' Robbie Smith's "deevil."

  "What i' the earth is he up till noo?" says I to mysel'. He stoppitefter a whilie, an' syne my lad quietly tnaks twa raw eggs on the edgeo' a cup, an' doon his thrapple wi' them. He brook up the shalls intolittle bitties an' steered them in amon' the ase, so's I wudna seethem. Atower to the middle o' the flure he comes again, an', stridin'his legs oot, he began to garr first the tae airm an' syne the tithergae whirlin' roond an' roond like the fly wheel o' an engine. Itmindit me o' the schule laddies an' their bummers. Weel, than; I goesmy wa's into the hoose.

  "Ay, it's a fine thing an egg, Sandy," says I; "especially twa." Iturned roond to the dresser-heid, no' to lat him see me lauchin'--for Icudna keep it in--an' pretendit to be lookin' for something.

  "It is so, Bawbie," says he; an' I noticed him i' the lookin'-glesspettin' his thoom till his nose. I whiskit roond aboot gey quick, an'he drappit his hands like lichtnin', an' began whistlin' "Tillygorm."

  "I've heard it said," says I, "that a raw egg's gude for a yooky nose."

  "You're aye hearin' some blethers," says he; "but there's RobbieMershell i' the shop"; an' but he ran to sair him.

  I kent fine there was something up, so I keepit my lugs an' een open,but it beat me to get at the boddom o't. Pottie Lawson, Bandy Wobster,an' Sandy have juist been thick an' three faud sin the Hielant gamestoornament, an' I kent fine there was some pliskie brooin' amon' them.They've hardly ever been oot o' the washin'-hoose, them an' twa-threemair. Great, muckle, hingin'-aboot, ill-faured scoonges, every ane o'them! I tell ye, Sandy hasna dune a hand's turn for the lest week, buthaikit aboot wi' them, plesterin' aboot this thing an' that. Feech!If I was a man, as I'm a woman, I wud kick the whole box an' dice o'them oot the entry.

  I gaed by the washin'-hoose door twa-three times, an' heard thespittin', an' the ochin' an' ayin', an' some bletherin' abootsprentin', an' rubbin' doon, an' sic like; but I cud mak' nether heidnor tail o't. But, I can tell ye, baith heid an' tail o't cam' oot onSetarday nicht.

  Sandy, as uswal, put on his goshores on Setarday efternune, an' awa' hegaed aboot five o'clock, an' I saw nae mair o' him till the lang legso' him---- But you'll learn aboot that sune eneuch. It was a sicht,the first sicht I got o' him, I can tell you.

  I was takin' a bit cuppie o' tea to mysel' aboot seven o'clock, for Ihad been terriple busy a' forenicht. Nathan was stanin' at the tableas uswal, growk-growkin' awa' for a bit o' my tea biskit. "I dinnalike growkin' bairns," I says to Nathan, juist as I was genna gie him abit piece an' some noo grozer jeel on't.

  "I'm no' carin'," he says, blawin' his nose atween his finger an' histhoom, an' syne dichtin't wi' his bonnet. "I wasna growkin'; but atony rate I'll no tell ye aboot Sandy. He said he wud gie me aletherin' if I was a clash-pie; but I was juist genna tell you, butI'll no' do't noo," an' oot at the door he gaed. I cried on him tocome back, but, yea wud!

  I saw nae mair o' him for half an 'oor, when in he comes to the backshop wi' a bundle o' claes an' flang them i' the flure. "There'sSandy's claes," says he. "I got them frae Bandy Wobster at the tap o'the street. He got them lyin' oot the Sands, an' he disna ken naethingaboot Sandy."

  "O, Alick Bowden," I says to mysel', says I; "I kent this would be theend o't some day! He's gane awa' dookin' an' gotten himsel' drooned.O, my puir man! I howp they'll get his body, or never anither bit o'fish will I eat! There's Mistress Mertin fand a galace button in ared-waur codlin's guts lest week; an' it's no' so very lang syne sin'Mistress Kenawee got fower bits o' skellie i' the crap o' a colomy.Puir Sandy! I winder hoo they'll do wi' the bural society bawbees?"

  "Is Sandy deid, Bawbie?" says Nathan.

  "Ay; I doot he's deid, Nathan, laddie," says I.

  "An' will you lat me get a ride on the dickie at the bural, Bawbie?"says Nathan, clawin' his heid throo a hole in his glengairy.

  "Haud your tongue, laddie," says I; "ye dinna ken what you're speakin'aboot."

  I gaithered up the claes. There was nae mistakin' them. They wereSandy's! The breeks pooches were foo o' nails an' strings, an' asmuckle ither rubbish as you wudda gotten in Peattie Broon's, thepigman's, back shop. There was a lot o' fiddle rozit i' the weyscot,an' a box o' queer-lookin' ointment ca'd auntie stuff. But what strackme first was that his seamit an' his drawers werena there. "Cud hegane in dookin' wi' them on?" thocht I to mysel'. I cudna see throo'tava.

  I gaed awa' to the shop door juist to look oot, an' I sees PottieLawson, Bandy Wobster, an' twa-three mair at the tap o' the streetlauchin' like ony thing. I throo the key i' the door in a blink, an'up the street I goes. Pottie was juist in the middle o' a greathallach o' a lauch, when I grippit him by the collar. He swallowed therest 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 turnup the white o' his een.

  "Tak' your hand off me, you ill-tongued bissam," saya he, "or I'll layyour feet fest for you."

  "Will you?" says I; an' I gae him a shuve that kowpit himheels-ower-heid ower the tap o' Gairner Winton's ae-wheeled barrow,that was sittin' ahent him. When he got himsel' gaithered oot amon'the peycods an' cabbitch, he was genna be at me, but Dauvid Kenaweestappit forrit, an' says he, "Saira ye richt, ye gude-for-naethingsnipe 'at ye are. Lift a hand till her, an' I'll ca' the chafts o' yeby ither."

  "What bisness hae you shuvin' your nose in?" says Pottie Lawson."There was naebody middlin' wi' you."

  "Juist you keep your moo steekit, Pottie," says Dauvid, "or I'll mibbybe middlin' wi' you. You're a miserable pack o' vagues, a' the lot o'ye, to gae wa' an' tak' advantage o' an' auld man! Yah! Damish yourskins, I cud thrash the whole pack o' ye." He up wi' his niv an' tooka hawp forrit. Pottie gaed apung ower the barrow again, an' sat doonon the tap o' the Gairner, wha was busy gaitherin' up his gudes.

  "Come awa', Bawbie," says Dauvid, takin' a haud o' my airm, "Sandy 'illturn up yet." So awa' we gaed, leavin' the fower or five o' themwammlin' awa' amon' the cabbitch, juist like what swine generally dowhen they get in amon' a gairner's stocks.

  "Sandy's a fulish man," said Dauvid, when we landit at the shop door.

  "Ye micht as weel tell me that twice twa's fower, Dauvid," says I."Fulish is no' the wird for't."

  "There's been some haiverin' amon' them aboot rinnin'; an' Sandy, likean auld fule, had been bouncin' aboot what he could do," gaed onDauvid, withoot mindin' what I said. "Sandy's fair gyte aboot fitba'an' harryin' an' sic like ploys. Weel-a-weel, Pottie Lawson an'twa-three mair o' them got Sandy to mak' a wadger o' five bob that hewud rin three miles in twenty-five meenits oot the Sands, an' they tellme Sandy's been oot twa-three times trainin' himsel'. To mak' a langstory short--Bandy Wobster gae me the particulars--the race cam' affthe nicht. Sandy strippit juist doon at the second slippie on theSands yonder. He keepit naething on but his inside sark, an' hisdrawers, an' a pair o' slippers, an' aff he set to rin ootby to thetargets an' back. He wasna fower meenits awa' when the lot o' thedirty deevils--that I shud ca' them sic a name--gaithered up Sandy'sclaes an
' cam' their wa's in the road, leavin' Sandy to get hame thebest wey he cud. Bandy Wobster gae the claes to Nathan at the tap o'the street, an' tell'd him he fand them on the Sands."

  "But whaur'll Sandy be?" says I.

  "That's mair than I can tell, Bawbie; but I'll rin doon for themistress, an' she'll look efter the shop till we gae oot the Sands an'see if we can fa' in wi' him," said Dauvid.

  Dauvid gaed awa' for Mistress Kenawee, an' I ran up the stair to thegarret to throw on my bonnet, takin' Sandy's claes wi' me. Preserve'sa', when I lookit into the garret, here's the skylicht open, an' twalang, skranky legs, wi' a pair o' buggers at the end o' them, wammlin'aboot like twa rattlesnakes tryin' to get to the fluir. I drappit theclaes, oot at the door, an' steekit it ahent me. I keekit in aneth thedoor, juist to see what wud happen. Sandy landit cloit doon on theflure, an' sat sweitin', an' pechin', an' ac'ually greetin'. What apicture he presentit! I cudna tell ye a' what he said. There were alot o' wirds amon't that's no' i' the dictionar'; an' I can tell ye, ifPottie Lawson an' Bandy Wobster get the half o' what Sandy promisedthem, baith in this world an' the next, they'll no hae far to find fora sair place.

  "Man, gin ye'd haen the brains o' a cock spug," I heard him sayin' tillhimsel', "ye michta jaloosed they were to play ye some prank. Youmuckle, dozent gozlin'," he says; an' he took himsel' a skelp i' theside o' the heid wi' his open luif that near ca'd him on his back. Inhis stagger his feet tickled amon' his claes, an' he gaithered them up,an' lookit fair dumfoondered like. He put them a' on; an' gyne--whatthink you? Puir Sandy ac'ually sat doon an' claspit his hands, an' Iheard him sayin', "I'm an awfu' eedeit, a pure provoke to a' 'atbelangs me! but if I'm forgi'en this time, I'll try an' do better fraethis 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. I'lllat Bandy Wobster awa' wi't, 'cause he's no' near wyse, an' he's an'objeck a'ready."

  Juist at this meenit Mistress Kenawee cries up the stair, "Are youthere, Bawbie?" an' I had to rin doon. I tell'd them Sandy was hame a'richt. Dauvid wantit to see him. But, na na! I keepit what I kent o'Sandy's story to mysel'; an', puir cratur, I was raley sorry for him.He gaed aboot a' Sabbath rale dementit like; an', i' the efternune, Icam' 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' plesterthat'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 hewantit to speak aboot it.

  "I'll do the chappin' when I get a grab o' Pottie Lawson," says Sandy."But I'll tell you this, Bawbie; when I was jookin' alang by theroppie, tryin' to get hame, it's as fac's ocht, I thocht twa-threetimes o' gaen plunk in amon' the water, an' makin' a feenish o't. Iwas that angry an' ashamed. But, man, I ran up throo the yairds,without onybody seein's, an' got in at the skylicht. I'll swag,Bawbie, I never was gledder than when I cam' cloit doon on my hurdieson the garret flure. But, as Rob Roy says, there's a day o' rekinin';an', by faigs, there'll be some fowk 'ill get the stoor taen oot o'their jeckits when it comes roond, or my name's no Si Bowden!"