Part 8

“She disna need to gang ony where lookin’ for a place; the sleuth-hounds o’ Dowanhill track her to her lair as soon as she’s landed at the Broomielaw or Buchanan Street Station, and mak’ a grab at her afore she learns enough o’ the language to ask her wye to a registry.

“A new servant in a hoose is like a Field Marshal back frae the front,--she’s trated wi’ sae muckle deference. Ye daurna mak’ a noise through the day for fear it’ll spoil her sleep. Ye pit on the fire for her in the mornin’, and brush her golfin’ buits afore ye start for the office. Ye pay sixpence a day o’ car fares for her to go and see her kizzens in case she’s wearyin’, puir thing! And if ‘Rob Roy’s’ on at the theatre ye’ll be as weel to let her know and gie her tickets for it, or she’ll gie notice when she reads the creeticism in the paper and finds oot she missed it. Mair nor a dizzen societies have been started for giving medals and rewards to servant lassies that have been a lang lang while in the ae situation; they’re worked oh a graduated scale:--

“Hoosemaids, in one situation two months--Bronze medal of the Society and 30s. Generals, three months--Silver medal and fountain pen.

“Plain cook, six months--Gold medal, £5, and gramophone.

“Whit the country wants is the municeepilisation o’ domestic service. The better h’oosin’ o’ the poor’s a thing that there’s nae hurry for. Plain cooks and general servants that ken the difference between a cake o’ black lead and a scrubbing-brush are a communal needcessity; they can nae mair be done withoot than gas, water, skoosh cars, or the telephone.

“The Corporations should import and train Mary Anns in bulk, gie them a nate uniform and thirty shillin’s a week, and hire them oot ‘oorly, daily, weekly, or monthy, as required, reserving for them a’ the rights and privileges that belong to them, wi’ limitation o’ workin’ ‘oors, strick definition o’ duties, stipulated nichts oot, and faceelities for followers. Look at the polis. Ye can depend on gettin’ a polisman nine times oot o’ ten if ye want him; a lassie to gang oot wi’ the pramlater, or a hoose-tablemaid, should be jist as easy got by every ratepayer when wanted, and that’s only to be secured by the Corporations takin’ the domestic service into their ain haunds.”

XIX DUFFY’S, WEDDING

|I did not see Erchie during the New-Year holidays, and so our greetings on Saturday night when I found him firing up the church furnace had quite a festive cheerfulness.

“Where have you been for the past week?” I asked him. “It looks bad for a beadle to be conspicuous by his absence at this season of the year.”

“If ye had been whaur ye ocht to hae been, and that was in the kirk, last Sunday, ye wad hae found me at my place,” said Erchie. “Here’s a bit bride’s-cake,” he went on, taking a little packet from his pocket. “The rale stuff! Put that below your heid at nicht and ye’ll dream aboot the yin that’s gaun to mairry ye. It’s a sure tip, for I’ve kent them that tried it, and escaped in time.”

I took the wedding-cake. To dream of the one I want to marry is the desire of my days--though, indeed, I don’t need any wedding-cake below my pillow for such a purpose. “And who’s wedding does this--this deadly comestible--come from, Erchie?” I asked him.

“Wha’s wad it be but Duffy’s,” said Erchie. “‘At 5896 Braid Street, on the 31st, by the Rev. J. Macauslane, Elizabeth M’Niven Jardine to James K. Duffy, coal merchant.’ Duffy’s done for again; ye’ll can see him noo hurryin’ hame for his tea when his work’s bye and feared ony o’ the regular customers o’ the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults’ll stop him on the road and ask him in for something. His wife’s takin’ him roond wi’ a collar on, and showin’ him aff among a’ her freen’s and the ither weemen she wants to vex, and she’s learning him to ca’ her ‘Mrs D.’ when they’re in company. He wasna twa days at his work efter the thing happened when she made him stop cryin’ his ain coals and leave yin o’ his men to dae’t, though there’s no’ twa o’ them put thegither has the voice o’ Duffy. I wadna wonder if his tred fell aff on accoont o’t, and it’s tellin’ on his health. ‘She says it’s no’ genteel for me to be cryin’ my ain coals,’ he says to me; ‘but I think it’s jist pride on her pairt, jist pride. Whit hairm does it dae onybody for me to gie a wee bit roar noo and then if it’s gaun to help business?’ I heard him tryin’ to sing ‘Dark Lochnagar’ on Friday nicht in his ain hoose, and it wad vex ye to listen, for when he was trampin’ time wi’ his feet ye could hardly hear his voice, it was that much failed. ‘Duffy,’ I says till him, takin’ him aside, ‘never you mind the mistress, but go up a close noo and then and gie a roar to keep your voice in trim withoot lettin’ on to her ony-thing aboot it.’

“Yes, Duffy was mairried on Hogmanay Nicht, and we were a’ there--Jirinet and me, and her niece Sarah, and Macrae the nicht polis, and a companion o’ Macrae’s frae Ardentinny, that had his pipes wi’ him to play on, but never got them tuned. It was a grand ploy, and the man frae Ardentinny fell among his pipes comin’ doon the stair in the mornin’. ‘Ye had faur ower much drink,’ I tellt him, takin’ him oot frae amang the drones and ribbons and things. ‘I’m shair ye’ve drunk a hale bottle.’ ‘Whit’s a bottle o’ whusky among wan?’ says he. If it wasna for him it wad hae been a rale nice, genteel mairrage.

“Duffy had on a surtoo coat, and looked for, a’ the warld like Macmillan, the undertaker, on a chape job. He got the lend o’ the surtoo frae yin o’ the men aboot the Zoo, and he was aye tryin’ to put his haunds in the ootside pooches and them no’ there. ‘Oh, Erchie,’ he says to me, ‘I wish I had on my jaicket again, this is no’ canny. They’ll a’ be lookin’ at my haunds.’ ‘No, nor yer feet,’ I tellt him; ‘they’ll be ower busy keepin’ their e’e on whit they’re gaun to get to eat.’ ‘If ye only kent it,’ says he, ‘my feet’s a torment to me, for my buits is far ower sma’.’ And I could see the puir sowl sweatin’ wi’ the agony.

“The bride looked fine. Jinnet nearly grat when she saw her comin’ in, and said it minded her o’ hersel’ the day she was mairried. ‘Ye’re just haverin’,’ I tellt her, gey snappy. ‘She couldna look as nice as you did that day if she was hung wi’ jewels.’ But I’ll no’ say Leezie wasna nice enough--a fine, big, sonsy, smert lass, wi’ her face as glossy as onything.

“When the operation was by, and the minister had gane awa’ hame, us pressin’ him like onything to wait a while langer, and almost breakin’ his airms wi’ jammin’ his top-coat on him fast in case he micht change his mind, we a’ sat down to a high tea that wad dae credit to F. & F.’s. If there was wan hen yonder there was haulf a dizzen, for the bride had a hale lot o’ country freen’s, and this is the time o’ the year the hens is no’ layin’.

“There were thirty-five folk sat doon in Duffy’s hoose that nicht, no’ coontin’ a wheen o’ the neighbours that stood in the lobby and took their chance o’ whit was passin’ frae the kitchen. Duffy hadna richt started carvin’ the No. 6 hen when a messenger cam’ to the door to ask for the surtoo coat, because the man in the Zoo had his job changed for that nicht and found he needed the coat for his work; so Duffy was quite gled to get rid of it, and put on his Sunday jaicket. ‘Ask him if he wadna like a wee lend o’ my new tight boots,’ he says to the messenger frae the Zoo; ‘if he does, come back as fast’s ye can for them, and I’ll pay the cab.’

“Efter the high tea was by, the Ardentinny man never asked onybody’s leave, but began to tune his pipes, stoppin’ every twa or three meenutes to bounce aboot the player he was, and that his name was M’Kay--yin o’ the auld clan M’Kays. Macrae, the nicht polis, was awfu’ chawed that he brocht him there at a’. Ye couldna hear yersel’ speakin’ for the tunin’ o’ the pipes, and they werena nearly half ready for playin’ on when the bride’s mither took the liberty o’ stoppin’ him for a wee till we wad get a sang frae somebody.

“‘James’ll sing,’ says the bride, lookin’ as prood’s ye like at her new man. ‘Will ye no’ obleege the company wi’ “Dark Lochnagar”?’ “‘I wad be only too willin’,’ he tellt her, ‘if I had on my ither boots and hadna ett thon last cookie.’ But we got him to sing ‘Dark Lochnagar’ a’ richt. In the middle o’t the man frae Ardentinny said if Duffy wad haud on a wee he wad accompany him on the pipes, and he started to tune them again, but Macrae stopped him by puttin’ corks in his drones.

“Jinnet sang the ‘Auld Hoose.’ Man! I was prood o’ her. Yon’s the smertest wumman in Gleska. The Rale Oreeginal!”

“Don’t you yourself sing, Erchie?”

“Not me! I’m comic enough withoot that. A flet fit and a warm hert, but timmer in the tune. Forbye, I was too busy keepin’ doon the man frae Ardentinny. He was determined to hae them pipes o’ his tuned if it took him a’ nicht. I tried to get him to gang oot into the back-coort to screw them up, but he aye said they were nearly ready noo, they wadna tak’ him ten meenutes, and he kept screechin’ awa’ at them. It was fair reediculous.

“At last the bride’s mither got him put into the kitchen, and was clearin’ the room for a dance. Duffy was very red in the face, and refused to rise frae the table. ‘Whit’s the use o’ dancin’?’ says he; ‘are we no’ daein’ fine the way we are?’ And then it was found oot he had slipped his tight boots aff him under the table, and was sittin’ there as joco as ye like in his stockin’ soles.

“The young yins were dancin’ in the room to the playin’ o’ a whustle, and the rest o’ us were smokin’ oot on the stair-heid, when the man frae Ardentinny cam fleein’ oot wi’ his bagpipes still gaspin’. He said it was an insult to him to start dancin’ to a penny whustle and him there ready to play if he could only get his pipes tuned.

“‘Never you heed, Mac,’ says I; ‘ye’ll hae a chance at Macrae’s waddin’ if ye can get the pipes tuned afore then; he’s engaged to oor Sarah.’

“I was that gled when the cat-wutted cratur fell amang his pipes gaun doon the stair in the mornin’; it served him richt.”

“And where did Duffy and his bride spend their honeymoon, Erchie?” I asked.

“They took the skoosh car oot to Paisley; that was a’ their honeymoon.”

XX ON CORPORAL PUNISHMENT

“|On this question of corporal punishment in the schools, Erchie,” I said to my old friend, “what are your views? I’ve no doubt you’re dead against any alteration on use and wont.”

“Whiles,”’ said Erchie; “whiles! I buy the paper ae day, and when I read the wye brutal and ignorant schoolmaisters abuse their poseetion, I feel that angry I could fling bricks at the windows o’ a’ the schools I pass on the wye to my wark; but the next day when I read whit perfect wee deevils a’ the weans is nooadays, and hoo they’ll a’ turn oot a-disgrace to their faithers and mithers if they divna get a beltin’ twice a-day, I’m sair tempted to gae ower to my guid-dochter’s in the Calton and tak’ a razor-strop to wee Alick afore he gangs to his bed, jist in case he’s bein’ negleckit. That’s the warst o the newspapers; they’re aye giein’ ye the differen’ sets o’t, and ye read sae much on the ae side and then the ither that ye’re fair bate to mak’ up your mind. My ain puir auld faither--peace be wi’ him!--didna seem to be muckle fashed wi’ the different sets o’t in the newspapers; he made up his mind awfu’ fast, and gied ye his fit-rule ower the back o’ the fingers afore ye could gie your wee brither a clip on the nose for clypin’ on ye. They may abolish corporal punishment in the Gleska schools, but they’ll no’ pit an end to’t in hooses whaur the faither’s a plumber and aye has a fit-rule stuck doon the outside seam o’ his breeks.”

“Ah yes! Erchie, but these paternal ebullitions of ill-temper----”

“Ill-temper or no’,” said Erchie, “it’s a’ in the scheme o’ nature, and an angry man’s jist as much the weepon o’ nature as a thunderbolt is, or a lichted caundle lookin’ for an escape o’ gas. If ye dinna get your licks in the school for bein’ late in the mornin’, ye’ll get fined an awfu’ lot o’ times for sleepin’ in when ye’re auld enough to work in Dubs’s; so the thing’s as braid as it’s wide, as the Hielan’man said.”

“Then you seem to think a fit of anger is essential to paternal punishment, Erchie? That’s surely contrary to all sober conclusions?’

“Sober conclusions hae naethin’ to dae wi’ skelpin’ weans, as I ken fine that brocht up ten o’ a family and nearly a’ that’s spared o’ them daein’ weel for themsel’s. The auld Doctor in oor kirk talks aboot love and chastisement, but in my experience human nature wad be a’ to bleezes lang afore this if faithers and mithers didna whiles lose their tempers and gie their weans whit they deserved. If you’re the kind o’ man that could thresh a puir wee smout o’ a laddie in cauld bluid, I’m no’, and I canna help it.”

“And did you thrash your ten much, Erchie?”

I asked, with a doubt as to that essential ill-temper in his case.

“That has naethin’ to dae wi’t,” said he, quickly. “My private disinclination to hae the wee smouts greetin’ disna affect the point at a’. If oor yins needed it, I went oot for a daunder and left the job to Jinnet. A woman’s aye the best hand at it, as I ken by my aunty Chirsty. When she had the threshin’ o’, me, she aye gied me tuppence efter it was done if I grat awfu’ sair, and I took guid care I never went wantin’ money in thae days. I was only vexed she couldna thresh me threepence-worth the time the shows were roond oor wye, and mony’s the time I worked for’t.

“When the papers mak’ me wonder whether corporal punishment’s guid for the young or no’, I jist tak’ a look at mysel’ in Jinnet’s new wardrobe looking-gless, and, except for the flet feet--me bein’ a waiter--I don’t see muckle wrang wi’ Erchie MacPherson, and the Lord kens there was nae slackness o’ corporal punishment in his days, though then it was simply ca’d a leatherin’. My mither threshed me because it wadna gae wrang onywye--if I wasna need’nt the noo I wad be need’nt some ither time; and my faither threshed me because there was a hard knot in the laces o’ his boots, and he couldna lowse’t. It didna dae me ony hairm, because I ken’t they were fond enough o’ me.

“In the school we were weel threshed in the winter-time to keep us warm, and in the summertime a stirrin’-up wi’ the tawse a’ roond made up for the want o’ ventilation. If I never learned much else in the school, I got a fair grup o’ nai-tural history, and yin o’ the tips I got was that a horse-hair laid across the loof o’ the haund’ll split a cane or cut the fingers aff a tawse, when ye’re struck by either the yin or the ither. I made twa or three cairt-horses bald-heided at the tail wi’ my experimentin’, but somethin’ aye went wrang; the maister either let fly ower sudden, or it was the wrang kind o’ horse--at onyrate, I never mind o’ cuttin’ the cane or the tawse.

“Whiles when I’m across at my guid-dochter’s, I hear her wee laddie, Alick, greetin’ ower his coonts, and fear’t the maister’ll cane him because they’re no’ richt.

“‘If a cistern wi’ an inlet pipe twa-and-a-half inches in diameter lets in seventy-nine gallons eleeven quarts and seeven pints in twenty-fower and a half’oors, and an ootlet pipe o’ three-quarters o’ an inch diameter discharge forty-eight gallons nineteen quarts and five pints in the six’oors, whit o’clock will the cistern be empty if the ootlet pipe hiz a big leak in’t?’

“That’s the kind o’ staggerer puir wee Alick gets thrashed for if he canna answer’t richt. I couldna dae a coont like that mysel’, as shair’s death, if I was pyed for’t, unless I had the cistern aside me, and a len’ o’ the measures frae the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults, and Jinnet wi’ a lump o’ chalk keepin’ tally. I’m no’ shair that it’s ony guid to thrash wee Alick for no’ can’ daein’ a coont o’ that kind, or for no’ bein’ able to spell ‘fuchsia,’ or for no’ mindin’ the exact heights o’ a’ the principal mountains in Asia and Sooth America.

“Hoo wad ye like it yoursel’? Ye canna put mathematics into a callan’s heid by thrashin’ him ower the fingers, if he’s no’ made wi’ the richt lump in his heid for mathematics; and if Alick’s schoolmaister gaes on thinkin’ he can, I’ll gae oot some day to his school and maybe get the jyle for’t.”

“Come, come, Erchie,” I protested; “you are in quite an inconsistent humour to-day; surely Alick’s thrashings are all in the scheme of nature. If he is not punished now for inability to do that interesting proposition in compound proportion, he will be swindled out of part of his just payment when paid for bricklaying by the piece when he has taken to the trade, and the thing--once more as the Highlandman said--is as broad as it’s wide.”

“Nane o’ my guid-dochter’s sons is gaun to tak’ to treds,” said Erchie, coldly; “they’re a’ gaun to be bankers and electreecians and clerks and genteel things o’ that sort. If I’m no’ consistent aboot, this, it’s because o’ whit I tellt ye, that I’ve read ower mony o’ thae letters and interviews in the papers, and canna mak’ up my mind. I ken fine a’ the beltin’s I got in the school were for my guid, but--but--but it’s different wi’ wee Alick.”

“But we have all our wee Alicks, Erchie.”

“Then we’re a’ weel aff,” said Erchie, glowing, “for yon’s the comicalest wee trate! The Rale Oreeginal.”

“But the teachers don’t understand him?”

“That’s the hale p’int,” said Erchie, agreeably; “the teachers never dae. They’re no’ pyed for understandin’ a’ the wee Alicks: a’ that can be expected for the wages the schoolmaisters get in Gleska is that they’ll haul the wee cratur by the scruff o’ the neck through a’ the standards.. The schoolmaister and the mither ought to be mair prized and bigger pyed than ony ither class in the country, but they’re no’, and that’s the reason their jobs are often sae badly filled up.

“If education was a’ that folk think it is, there wad lang syne hae been nae need for cane nor strap. For mair nor a generation noo, every bairn has had to go to the school--a’ the parents o’ a’ the weans in school the noo have had an education themsel’s, so that baith at hame and in the school the young generation of the present day have sae mony advantages ower whit you and I had, they ought to be regular gems o’ guid behaviour and intelligence.

“But I canna see that they’re ony better than their grandfaithers were at the same age. Except my good-dochter’s boy Alick, I think they’re a’ worse.

“A’ the difference seems to be that they’re auld sooner than we were, smoke sooner, and swear sooner, and in a hunner wyes need mair leatherin’ than we did. Education o’ the heid’s no’ education o’ the hert, and the only thing that comes frae crammin’ a callant o’ naiturally bad disposeetion with book-learnin’ is that he’s the better trained for swindlin’ his fellow-men when he’s auld enough to try his hand at it. I wad be awfu’ prood o’ every new school that’s in Gleska if I didna ken that I had to pye a polis tax for’t by-and-bye as weel as school tax.”

“How glad we ought to be, Erchie, that we were born in a more virtuous age,” I said, and Erchie screwed up his face.

“We werena,” said he. “It’s aye been the same since the start o’ things. I’ve jist been sayin’ to ye whit I mind o’ hearin’ my faither say to mysel’. There’ll aye be jist enough rogues in the world to keep guid folk like you and me frae gettin’ awfu’ sick o’ each ither.”

XXI THE FOLLIES OF FASHION

|My old friend has a great repugnance to donning new clothes. His wife Jinnet told me once she had always to let him get into a new suit, as it were, on the instalment system: the first Sunday he reluctantly put on the trousers; the second he ventured the trousers and waistcoat; and on the third he courageously went forth in the garb complete, after looking out at the close-mouth first to see that Duffy or any other ribald and critical acquaintance was not looking.

I saw a tell-tale crease down the front of the old man’s legs yesterday.

“New sartorial splendour, Erchie?” I said, and pinched him for luck.

He got very red.

“You’re awfu’ gleg in the een,” said he; “am I no’ daein’ my best to let on they’re an auld pair cleaned? Blame the wife for’t! there’s naethin’ o’ the la-di-da aboot easy-gaun Erchie. But weemen! claes is their hale concern since the day that Adam’s wife got the shape o’ a sark frae the deevil, and made if wi’ a remender o’ fig-leafs.

“There’s no much wrang wi’ Jinnet, but she’s far ower pernicketty aboot whit her and me puts on, and if she has naething else to brag aboot she’ll brag I hae aye the best-brushed buits in oor kirk. She took an awfu’ thraw yince at yin o’ the elders, for she thocht he bate me wi’ the polish o’ his buits, and she could hardly sleep ower the heid o’t till I tellt her they were patent.

“‘Och!’ says she, ‘is that a’? Patent’s no’ in the game.’

“‘Onything’s in the game,’ says I to her, ‘that’s chaper nor heeling and soling.’

“It’s bad enough,” he went on, “to be hurtin’ yer knees wi’ new breeks, and haein’ the folk lookin’ at ye, but it’s a mercy for you and me we’re no’ weemen. You and me buys a hat, and as lang’s the rim and the rest o’t stick thegither, it’s no’ that faur oot the fashion: we need to hide oorsel’s. The only thing I see changes in is collars, and whether it’s the lying-doon kind or the double-breisted chats, they hack yer neck like onything. There’s changes in ties, but gie me plain black.

“Noo, Jinnet has to hae the shape o’ her hat shifted every month as regular’s a penny diary. If it’s flet in June, it’s cockin’ up in July; and if the bash is on the left side in August, it has to be on the right side in September.

“Och! but there’s no’ muckle wrang wi’ Jinnet for a’ that; she wanted to buy me a gold watch-chain last Fair.

“‘A gold watch-chain’s a nice, snod, bien-lookin’ thing aboot a man,’ she says, ‘and it’s gey usefu’.’

“No, nor usefu’,’ says I; ‘a watch-chain looks fine on a man, but it’s his gallowses dae the serious wark.’”

“Still, Erchie,” I said, “our sex can’t escape criticism for its eccentricities of costume either. Just fancy our pockets, for instance!”

“Ye’re right, there,” Erchie agreed; “hae I no’ fifteen pouches mysel’ when I hae my topcoat on? If I put a tramway ticket into yin’ o’ them I wadna be able to fin’ oot which o’ them it was in for an’oor or twa.

“Pockets is a rale divert. Ye canna dae with-oot nine or ten in Gleska if ye try yer best. In the country it’s different. Doon aboot Yoker, and Gargunnock, and Deid Slow and them places, a’ a man needs in the wye o’ pouches is twa trooser yins--yin for each haund when he’s leanin’ against a byre-door wonderin’ whit job he’ll start the morn.

“There’s a lot o’ fancy wee pouches that’ll no’ haud mair nor a pawn-ticket aboot a Gleska man’s claes, but in the country they dae wi’ less and dig them deep.

“Sae faur as I can see, the pouch is a new-fashioned thing a’thegither. Look at them auld chaps ye see in pictures wi’ the galvanised or black-leaded airn suits on; if yin o’ them wanted a pouch he wad need to cut it himsel’ wi’ a sardine-opener, and then he wad peel a’ his knuckles feelin’ for his hankey or the price o’ a pint. I’m gled I wisna gaun aboot when them galvanised airn suits was the go; it must hae been awfu’ sair on the nails scratchin’ yersel’. Yer claes were made then in a biler-works. When ye went for the fit-on, the cutter bashed in the slack bits at the back wi’ a hammer and made it easier for ye under the oxter wi’ a cauld chisel.

“‘I want it higher at the neck,’ says you.

“‘Right!’ says he, quite game, and bangs in twa or three extra rivets. And your wife, if ye had yin, had to gie your suits a polish up every Friday when she was daein’ the kitchen grate.

“It was the same when the Hielan’s was the wye ye read aboot in books, and every Hielan’-man wore the kilts.

“There was nae pocket in a pair o’ kilts.