My Man Sandy Part 6

Sandy jamp aff his seat an', rammin' on his hat, gaed bang throo the shop, yatterin', "Auch, haud your gab; that claikin' tongue o' yours mak's me fair mauchtless. I micht as weel argey wi' the brute beast i'

the swine-crue till I was black i' the face." An' oot at the door he gaed, halin't to ahent him wi' a bang that garred the very sweetie bottles rattle.

VII.

SANDY'S MAGIC LANTERN EXHIBITION.

I was juist gaen oot at the back door on Wednesday nicht last week when I hears some crackin' gaen on i' the was.h.i.+n'-hoose, an' I lookit in to see wha was there.

"Man, that's juist the very dollop," says Sandy, as I lifted the sneck.

Dauvid Kenawee an' Bandy Wobster an' him were stravagin' roond aboot the place wi' a fitrool an' a bawbee can'le, an' I saw immidintly that there was something i' the wind. I was juist clearin' my throat to lat them ken there was to be nae mair o' their conspiracies in my was.h.i.+n'-hoose, when Dauvid slippit in his wird afore me.

"Come awa, Bawbie," he saya, says he, in his uswal quiet wey. "We were juist seein' aboot whuther we micht hae a bit magic lantern exhibition here on Setarday nicht. I have a cla.s.s at the Mission Sabbath Schule, ye see, an' I was genna hae them at a cup o' tea on Setarday, an' I thocht o' gien them a bit glisk o' the magic lantern. Robbie Boath, the joiner, has a lantern he's genna gie's the len' o', an' Sandy here thinks he can wirk the concern a' richt."

"I've nae objection to onything o' that kind, whaur gude's genna be done," says I. "But it's no' nane o' your electric oxey hydropathic kind o' bisnesses, is't? I winna lippen Sandy wi' onything o' that kind, for I tell ye----"

"Dinna you bather yoursel, Bawbie," brook in Sandy. "This is a parafin lantern; juist as easy wrocht as your was.h.i.+n' machine there."

"Ay weel, Sandy," says I, "gin ye get on wi' your magic lantern as weel's ye generally manish wi' the was.h.i.+n' machine, when I'm needin' a hand o' ye, I'll swag Dauvid's bairns 'ill no' be lang keepit."

"Tach, Bawbie, you're aye takin' fowk aff wi' your impidence," says Sandy, gey ill-natured like.

But Dauvid an' Bandy juist took a bit lauch at him.

Weel, than, to mak' a lang story short, Setarday nicht cam', and the magic lantern wi't. Dod, but Sandy had a gey efternune o't. He was steerin' aboot, carryin' in soap boxes for seats to the bairns, an'

learnin' up his leed aboot the pictures, an' orderin' aboot Nathan; ye never heard the like! I heard him yatterin' awa' till himsel' i' the back shop, "The great battle o' Waterloo was fochen in echteen fifteen atween the English an' the French, an' Bloocher landit on the scene juist as Wellinton was gien the order--Tuts, ye stupid blockheid, Nathan, that saft-soap barrel disna gae there--'Up gairds an' at them.'" He gaed on like this for the f.e.c.k o' the efternune, an' even in the middle o' his tea, when I speered if it was het eneuch, he lookit at me akinda ravelled like, and says, "Although ye was startin'

for that star the day you was born, stride-legs on a cannon ball, ye wudna be there till ye was mair than ninety 'ear auld."

"Wha's speakin' aboot stars?" says I; "I'm speerin' if your tea's het eneuch?"

"O, ay, yea, I daursay; it's a' richt," says Sandy. "I was mindin'

aboot Sirias, the nearest fixed star, ye ken. I winder what it's fixed wi'?"

Seven o'clock cam' roond, an' Dauvid's bairns gaed throo oor entry like's they'd start.i.t for Sandy's fixed star. They wudda gane through the was.h.i.+n'-hoose door if it hadna happened to be open. I had forgotten aboot them at the time; but, keep me, when they cam' oot o'

Dauvid's efter their tea, I floo to the door. I thocht it was somebody run ower.

Sandy had on his sirtoo an' his lum gin this time, an' he was gaen about makin' a terriple noise, blawin' his nose in his Sabbath hankie, an' lookin', haud your tongue, juist as big's bull beef. He gaed into the was.h.i.+n'-hoose to cows.h.i.+n the laddies, for they were makin' a terriple din.

"Now, boys an' loons--an' la.s.sies, I mean," says Sandy, "there must be total nae noise ava, or the magic lantern 'ill no wirk."

"Hooreh! Time's up!" roared a' the laddies thegither; an' they whistled, an' kickit wi' their feet till you wudda thocht they wud haen my gude soap boxes ca'd a' to crockinees.h.i.+n.

Dauvid appeared to tak' the whole thing as a maitter o' coorse, an'

when I speered if this was juist their uswal, "Tuts ay," says he, "it's juist the loons in the exoobrians o' their speerits, d'ye know, d'ye see."

Thinks I to mysel', thinks I, I wud tak' some o' that exoobrians oot o'

them, gin I had a fortnicht o' them. A Sabbath cla.s.s! It was mair like a half-timers' fitba' club. But, of coorse, it's no' ilka day they see a magic lantern.

Mistress Kenawee, an' Mistress Mollison an' her man, the Gairner, an'

the Smith, an' I cudna tell ye hoo mony mair, had gotten wind o't, an'

the was.h.i.+n'-hoose was as foo as cud cram. There was a terriple atramush amon' the laddies when the can'le was blawn oot, an' syne Sandy strak a s.p.u.n.k an' licht.i.t his lantern, an', efter a fell lot o'

fykin', he got her into order.

Sandy gae a keckle o' a host, an' syne he says, "Now, boys an' girls an' people, the first picture I'm genna show you is Danyil in the den o' lions. There he is sae!" an' he shot in the picture.

It was an awfu' queer-like picture. I cud nether mak' heid nor tail o't. It was a' juist akinda greenichy-yallichy like, like's somebody had skelt a pottal o' green-kail or something on the sheet whaur the picture was.

"I'm dootin' there's something wrang wi' the fokis," says Bandy Wobster.

"Juist you look efter your ain fokis, Bandy," says Sandy, gey peppery weys, "an' lat ither fowk's fokises aleen."

"Are ye share you're richt wi' the picture?" Dauvid Kenawee speered.

"There's naething wrang wi' the picture," says Sandy. "Ye see that kind o' a broon bit doon at the fit there? That's ane o' Danyil's feet."

"Look the number o' the slide, Sandy," said Bandy, "an' mak' shure you're richt. They're mibby oot o' order."

"You're oot o' order," said Sandy, as angry as a wasp. "Haud that lum hat, Bawbie!" he says; an' he oot wi' the picture, an' roars oot--"Number 2217! Look up 2217, Nathan, i' the book there, an' see what it says."

Efter kirnin' aboot amon' the leaves o' his book for a meenit or twa, Nathan got up his nose to the moo o' the lantern an' read oot--"A slice o' a drunkard's liver."

"What d'ye say?" says Sandy. "Lat's see't."

"A slice o' a drunkard's liver," says Nathan again.

Sandy grippit the book, an' efter a meenit, he says, "Ay, man; so you're richt. There's been some mixin' amon' the pictures. This is a slice or section o' a drunkard's liver," he continued, "showin' the effeks o' alcohol."

The laddies hurraed the drunkard's liver like onything, an' this gae Sandy time to get his breath, an' to dicht the sweit aff his face.

"That's the kind o' a liver ye'll get if you're drunkards," said Sandy.

"The action o' the alcohol dejinerates the tis.h.i.+e until the liver becomes akw.i.l.l.y ransed, an' the neebriate becomes a total wreck." At this the laddies an' la.s.sies clappit their hands like a' that.

"See that ye never get a drunkard's liver," said Sandy in a solemn voice; an' ane o' Dauvid's laddies says, "By golly, I wudna like a sowser o' a liver like that, onywey," an' set a' the rest a-lauchin'.

"Attention!" shouted Dauvid till his cla.s.s; an' Bandy Wobster--wha was busy glowerin' at the drunkard's liver, an' windrin' what like his ain was, nae doot--strak in, without kennin', wi' "Shoulder arms!" an' the laddies roared an' leuch till you wud actually thocht they wudda wranged themsel's. Gin they stoppit, Sandy had fa'in' in wi' Danyil, an' there he was, glowerin' at's a', life-size, an' twenty lions wirrin' a' roond aboot him.

Sandy tell'd the story aboot Danyil, an' hoo he was flung in amon' the lions for no' bein' a vegabon'; an' faigs, mind ye. Sandy got on winderfu'. The laddies paid fine attention, an' ye cudda heard a preen fa'in' when Sandy was speakin'.

"There's no' nae lions' dens nooadays, ye see," say Sandy, to feenish up wi'. "What is't they do wi' creeminals or notorious fowk noo?"

"Pet them on for Toon c.o.o.ncillers," said ane o' the biggest o' Dauvid's laddies; an' Bandy Wobster lut oot a great ballach o' a lauch, an'

roared at the pitch o' his voice--"Confoond it! Feech! I've swallowed a bit tobacco!"

Then there were pictures o' Joseph an' Moses, an' a great lot mair Bible characters, the loons roarin' oot the names generally afore the pictures were half in sicht. They were roid loons, an' nae mistak', but I can tell ye they had the Bible at their finger nebs. Dauvid was as prood's Loocifer aboot the laddies answerin' so smert; but Sandy hardly liked it.