Chapter III.

After Tammas had finished boring half-a-dozen holes in the old sow with his sarcastic eye, he looked up, and addressed Hendry McQumpha.

“Hendry,” he said, “ye ken I’m a humorist, div ye no?”

Hendry scratched the old sow meditatively, before he answered.

“Ou ay,” he said, at length. “I’m no saying ’at ye’re no a humorist. I ken fine ye’re a sarcesticist, but there’s other humorists in the world, am thinkin’.”

This was scarcely what Tammas had expected. Hendry was usually one of his most devoted admirers. There was an awkward silence, which made me feel uncomfortable. I am only a poor Dominie, but some of my happiest hours had been passed on the pig-sty. Were these merry meetings to come to an end? Pete took up the talking.

“Hendry, my man,” he observed, as he helped himself out of Tammas’s snuff-mull, “ye’re ower kyow-owy. Ye ken humour’s a thing ’at spouts out o’ its ain accord, an’ there’s no nae spouter in Thrums ’at can match wi’ Tammas.”

He looked defiantly at Hendry, who was engaged in searching for coppers in his north-east-by-east-trouser pocket. T’nowhead said nothing, and Hookey was similarly occupied. At last, the stranger spoke.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “may I say a word? I may lay claim to some experience in the matter. I travel in humour, and generally manage to do a large business.”

He looked round interrogatively. Tammas eyed him with one of his keen glances. Then he worked his mouth round and round to clear the course for a sarcasm.

“So you’re the puir crittur,” said the stone-breaker, “’at’s meanin’ to be a humorist.”

This was the challenge. We all knew what it meant, and fixed our eyes on the stranger.

“Certainly,” was his answer; “that is exactly my meaning. I trust I make myself plain. I’m willing to meet any man at catch-weights. Now here,” he continued, “are some of my samples. This story about a house-boat, for instance, has been much appreciated. It’s almost in the style of Mr. Jerome’s masterpiece; or this screamer about my wife’s tobacco-pipe and the smoking mixture. Observe,” he went on, holding the sample near to his mouth, “I can expand it to any extent. Puff, puff! Ah! it has burst. No matter, these accidents sometimes happen to the best regulated humorists. Now, just look at these,” he produced half-a-dozen packets rapidly from his bundle. “Here we have a packet of sarcasm--equal to dynamite. I left it on the steps of the Savile Club, but it missed fire somehow. Then here are some particularly neat things in cheques. I use them myself to paper my bedroom. It’s simpler and easier than cashing them, and besides,” adjusting his mouth to his sleeve, and laughing, “it’s quite killing when you come to think of it in that way. Lastly, there’s this banking-account sample, thoroughly suitable for journalists and children. You see how it’s done. I open it, you draw on it. Oh, you don’t want a drawing-master, any fellow can do it, and the point is it never varies. Now,” he concluded, aggressively, “what have you got to set against that, my friend?”

We all looked at Tammas. Hendry kicked the pail towards him, and he put his foot on it. Thus we knew that Hendry had returned to his ancient allegiance, and that the stranger would be crushed. Then Tammas began----

“Man, man, there’s no nae doubt ’at ye lauch at havers, an’ there’s mony ’at lauchs at your clipper-clapper, but they’re no Thrums fowk, and they canna’ lauch richt. But we maun juist settle this matter. When we’re ta’en up wi’ the makkin’ o’ humour, we’re a’ dependent on other fowk to tak’ note o’ the humour. There’s no nane o’ us ’at’s lauched at anything you’ve telt us. But they’ll lauch at me. Noo then,” he roared out, “‘A pie sat on a pear-tree.’”

We all knew this song of Tammas’s. A shout of laughter went up from the whole gathering. The stranger fell backwards into the sty a senseless mass.

“Man, man,” said Hookey to Tammas, as we walked home; “what a crittur ye are! What pit that in your heed?”

“It juist took a grip o’ me,” replied Tammas, without moving a muscle; “it flashed upon me ’at he’d no stand that auld song. That’s where the humour o’ it comes in.”

“Ou, ay,” added Hendry, “Thrums is the place for rale humour.” On the whole, I agree with him.

SUNG BY A SCOT IN THE CITY

AIR--“_Ye banks and braes._”

Ye banks and mines a’ ganging doon, How sma’ the sum ye fetch per share! How flat ye’ve got, ye railway lines, And a’ the Change sae fu’ o’ care! Thou’lt break my heart, thou civic crash, That made my paper fit to burn, Thou mind’st me o’ departed cash, Departed never to return!

Oft hae I purchased shares gane doon, When panic bade a’ stocks decline, And waited for them to improve, When muckle profit aye was mine. Wi’ lightsome heart I stored the gain Fu’ safe in the Per-Centies Three; Aweel, when Trust resumes his reign, The rise may mak’ amends to me!

RIGS AWA’

FROM THE LAYS OF A LAZY MINSTREL

Haggis broo is bla’ and braw, Kittle kail is a’ awa’; Gin a lassie kens fu’ weel, Ilka pawkie rattlin’ reel. Hey the laddie! Oh the pladdie! Hey the sonsie Finnie haddie! Hoot awa’!

Gang awa’ wi’ philibegs, Maut’s nae missed frae tappit kegs; Sound the spleuchan o’ the stanes, Post the pibroch i’ the lanes! Hey the swankie, scrievin’ shaver! Ho the canny clishmaclaver! Hoot awa’!

Paritch glowry i’ the ee, Mutchkin for a wee drappee; Feckfu’ is the barley-bree-- Unco’ gude! Ah! wae is me! Hey the tousie Tullochgorum! Ho the mixtie-maxtie jorum! Hoot awa’!

[We have received a note from the Lazy One, saying that he is staying in the North of Scotland with the Maclather of Maclather. He says, if we were to hear the retainers sing “_Rigs Awa’_”--of which he encloses a copy--during dinner, accompanying themselves on the national instruments, sporans and claymores, we should never forget it. We don’t suppose we ever should.----On second thoughts, we do not believe he has been out of town at all, but that someone has sent him a guinea Christmas hamper. “_Rigs Awa’_,” indeed! We’ll give him a recht gude willie waght in his ee when we catch him.--ED.]

BRADBURY, AGNEW. & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE

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Transcriber’s Notes:

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

Obvious printing mistakes have been corrected.

Inconsistencies of spelling in the original are retained in this version.

Images interrupting the flow of text in the original work have been moved outside the body of the poem.

Page 60, “!” added after “Bit.” Page 108, closing quotation mark added after “cream-jug.”