My Man Sandy Part 14

"Hear, hear," said a' the rest; an' wi' that Bandy got up on the boiler-heid on his belly, an' turnin' roond, sat wi' the legs o' him hingin' ower the front o' the boiler, juist like a laddie sittin' on the d.y.k.e at the Common. Watty Finlay, the weaver, shuved anower a tume b.u.t.ter kit for Bandy to set his feet on, an' then a'body sat quiet, juist like's something was genna happen.

Bandy took a bit tarry string, or tabaka or something, ooten his breeks pooch, an', nippin' aff a quarter o' a yaird o't, he into his moo wi't.

Syne he swallowed a spittal, an' said--"Freends an' fella ratepeyers."

Bandy never pey'd rates in's life. He bides in a twa-pound garret i'

the Wyndies, an' hardly ever peys rent, lat aleen rates. "Freends an'

fella ratepeyers," says he.

Bandy was stan'in' up on the boddom o' the b.u.t.ter kit gin this time, an' a' the billies were harkenin' like onything.

"Freends an' fella ratepeyers," says Bandy again. "See gin that door's on the sneck, Sandy, an' dinna lat the can'le blaw oot."

Sandy raise an' put to the door, an' set the can'le alang nearer Bandy a bit, an' then sat doon i' the sofa again.

"I hinna muckle to say," says Bandy. Bandy was brocht up in Aiberdeen, you ken, an' he has whiles a gey queer wey o' speakin'. "I hinna very muckle to say, you ken," says he, "an' konsequently, I'll no' say very muckle."

"Hear, hear," roared Watty Finlay.

"The Toon c.o.o.ncil elections is leemin' in the distance," continued Bandy, "an', as ceetizens o' the Breetish Empyre, we maun look oot for fit an' proper persons to reprisent the opinions o' the democracy in the Hoose o'--in the Toon Hoose, an' on the Police Commission.

Gentlemen----"

This garred a' the billies sit back in their seats, an' dicht their moos wi' their jeckit sleeves, an' host. Watty Finlay nearhand cowpit ower the bucket he was sittin' on; but he got his balance again, an'

sayin', "Ay, man," heich oot, he got a' richt sattled doon again.

"Gentlemen," says Bandy, "the time for action draws at hand. Oor watter is no fit for ki drinking; an' there's fient a thing but watter in the weet dock. My heart bleeds when I go roond the sh.o.r.e an' see all the s.h.i.+ps sailin' oot o' the herbir, an' no' a livin' sowl comin'

in. Gentlemen, that herbir's growin' a gijantic white elephant."

"An' so's the Watter Toor, an' the Lifeboat too," roared Dauvid Kenawee.

"The toon's foo o' white elephants, a' colours," said Moses Certricht.

"The Toon c.o.o.ncil's made it juist like a wild beast show."

"Hear, hear," cried the whole lot; an' Stumpie Mertin, gettin' a little excited, roared "Order," an' set them a' a-lauchin'.

"Gentlemen," said Bandy again, "it's as plen's a pikestaff that a' oor municeepal affairs is clean gaen to the deevil a'thegither; an' I have much pleasure----"

"Hear, hear," said Watty Finlay, "he's the very man." There was a bit lauch at this, an' Watty added, "I mean Sandy, of coorse--no' the deevil 'at Bandy was speakin' aboot."

"I was genna say," said Bandy, "when I was interrupit by the honourable gentleman----"

"O, gie's a rest," said Watty; an' Bandy had to begin again.

"I was genna say," he said, "that we maun get a hand o' a puckle men o'

abeelity an' straucht-forritness, an' I have much pleasure in proposin'

a vote of thanks to oor worthy freend, Mester Bowden, for comin' forrit to abolish the Toon c.o.o.ncil o' every rissim o' imposees.h.i.+n, till taxation shall vanish into oblivion, an' be a thing o' the past.

Mester Bowden is a man----"

"Hear, hear," says Watty again.

"Mester Bowden is a man that will never do onything----"

"Hear, hear," Watty stricks in again. He juist yatter-yattered awa'

like a parrot a' the time.

"Onything below the belt," proceeded Bandy. "Give him your votes, gentlemen. I can recommend him. Sandy--I mean Mester Bowden, will stick to his post like Ca.s.sybeeanka, or whatever they ca'd the billie that was brunt at the battle o' the Nile. He'll no' be like some o'

them that, like Ralph the Rover,

Sailed away, An' scoored the sea for mony a day.

Gentlemen, let everywan here do his very best to get every elektor to vote for Sandy, Mester Bowden, the pop'lar candidate. Up wi' him to the tap o' the poll!"

Bandy cam' doon wi' his tackety buit on the boddom o' the b.u.t.ter kit, an' in it gaed, an' him wi't, an' there he was, clappin' his hands, an'

stanin' juist like's he'd on a wid crinoline. You never heard sic a roostin' an' roarin' an' hear-hearin' an' hurrain'! I had to shut my een for fear o' bein' knokit deaf a'thegither. Stumpie Mertin jumpit up as spruce as gin he had baith his legs, instead o' only ane, an'

forgettin' whaur he was, he glowered a' roond the wa' an' says, "Whaur's the bell, lads?"

It was Sandy's turn noo; an' efter Dauvid Kenawee, auld Geordie Steel, an' Moses Certricht had gotten the chairman pu'd oot o' the b.u.t.ter kit, an' on to the boiler-heid again, Sandy raise ooten his seat wi' a look on his face like a nicht watchman. They a' sw.a.n.g their airms roond their heids, an' hurraed like onything, an' Sandy took lang breaths, an' lookit roond him as gin he was feard some o' them wud tak' him a peelik i' the lug.

When they quieted doon, Sandy gae a host, an' Watty Finlay said, "Hear, hear."

"Fella elektors," said Sandy, "let me thank you for your cordial reception."

Sandy had haen that ready aforehand, for he said her aff juist like "Man's Chief End." Syne he lifted his fit an' put it on the edge o'

the sofa. He rested his elba on his knee, an' his chin on his hand, an' lookit quite at hame, like's he'd been accustomed addressin'

meetin's a' his born days.

"I think oor worthy chairman spoke ower high aboot my abeelity," said Sandy; "but as far as lies in my pooer, I will never budge from my post, but stand firm." At this point, Sandy's fit slippit aff the edge o' the sofa, an' he cam' stoit doon an' gae Moses Certricht a daud i'

the lug wi' the croon o' his heid, that sent Moses' heid rap up again'

Dauvid Kenawee's.

"What i' the world are ye heavin' aboot that heid o' yours like that for?" said Dauvid, glowerin' like a wild cat at Moses: an' Bandy kickit his heels on the front o' the boiler, an' roared, "Order, gentlemen.

Respeck the chair!"

I was juist away to cry--"Ye micht respeck my boiler, raither, an' no'

kick holes i' the plester wi' thae muckle clunkers o' heels o' yours"; but I keepit it in.

Sandy got himsel' steadied up again, an' pulled doon his weyscot, syne gae his moo a dicht, an' b.u.t.toned his coat. I cud see fine that he was tryin' to keep up the English; but it wasna good enough. "I am no' a man o' learnin'," said Sandy. "I'm a wirkin' man, an' if I tak' up my heid wi' publik affairs, it's 'cause I've naething else ado, and it'll keep me oot o' langer. As oor respeckit chairman says, I'm no' like Ralph the Rover, sailin' awa' an' scoorin' the sea for mony a day.

That looks like a pure weyst o' soap--juist like what goes on i' the Toon c.o.o.ncil daily-day. You may lauch, freends, but it's ower true; an' wha is't peys for't?"

"It's his! It's his, lads!" roared a' the billies i' the was.h.i.+n'-hoose.

"It is so," said Sandy. "Oor Toon c.o.o.ncil's juist like this Ralph the Rover, gaen awa' scoorin' the sea for nae end--for the sea's no'

needin' scoorin'--when he michta been at hame helpin' his wife to ca'

the was.h.i.+n'-machine. It's usef'u' wark we want. Neen o' your Bailie Thingymabob's capers, wi' his donkey engines, eksettera. Echt thoosand pound for a noo kirkyaird! Did ye ever hear the like! What aboot the grand view you get? A puckle o' thae c.o.o.ncillors crack as gin they were genna pet bow-windas into a' the graves, to lat ye hae a grand view efter you was buried. Blethers o' nonsense! That's juist what I ca' scoorin' the sea like Ralph the Rover."

By faigs, lads, Sandy garred me winder gin this time. Ye never heard hoo he laid it into them, steekin' his nivs an' layin' aboot him wi'

his airms.

"Echt thoosand pound!" he roars again. "That's seven s.h.i.+llin's the heid--man, woman, and bairn i' the toon o' Arbroath. What d'ye think o' that? But that's no' a'. There's the toon's midden, too; that's needin' a look intil."

"Hear, hear," put in Watty as uswal; an' Bandy added, "It has muckle need, as my nose can tell ye."