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.”

_Bystander (to excited Scot, whose friend had been run over)._ “Not a near relative, I hope, sir.”

_Scot._ “Na--but--he has on a pair of ma breeks!”]

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.

Dr. M‘Currie (a chilly old soul), having ascertained from his landlady that coals are sixpence a scuttle, politely insists on providing a scuttle of his own, and begs to return, with many thanks, the charmingly tasteful article she had intended for his use.]

“If I hold on, I’ll lose my train; if I let go, I’ll fa’! Did ever onybody hear tell o’ sic a predicament?”]

_Native (to visitor from the South)._ “Ah, you’ve donned the kilt! Quite killing, I declare! But why do you wear the Macdonald tartan when your name is Thompson?”

_Little T. (who has been getting a good deal of chaff)._ “F’r a very good reason--’cause I’ve paid for it!”

[_Retires in a huff._]

“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?”

_Minister._ “Weel, John, an hoo did ye like ma son’s discoorse?”

_John._ “Weel, meenister, ah maun admeet he’s vera soond, but, oh man! he’s no deep! His pronoonciation’s no vera gweed; but ah’ve nae doobt he’ll impruv’!”]

“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!

_First Boatman (sotto voce)._ “That’s only the weeds he’s caught.”

_Second Boatman._ “Haud yer tongue, ye muckle sumph! It’s a glass of whusky we’ll be gettin’ if the body thinks he’s lost a fush!”]

_Saunders._ “’Sh-hamed! (_Hic._) Na, na, ’m nae sae drunk as that comes t’! Ah ken varra weel what a’m aboot!!”]

_Obstinate Juryman (Licensed Victualler)._ “What! Gie a vardict agyen Mr. McLushy? Not if aw sit here a’ nicht! Aw’ll see ye a’ starved first! He’s one o’ the finest gen’lemen i’ the toon, an’ comes to ma billiard-table every nicht, and a’ nichts whiles!”]

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.]

“Well, Kirsty, how’s business?”

“Middlin’, mem, jist middlin’. Some days we dae naething ava, an’ ithers we dae twice as muckle.”]

_Mabel (who has just concluded a bargain for a fowl)._ “Then I’ll tell mother you’ll kill it and send it up to-night.”

_Mrs. Macfarlane._ “Na, na, I’ll no kill it till the morn. I’m thinkin’ it’s goin’ to lay an egg this evenin’!”]

“My card, mon? I hanna got one! But I’d hae you to ken that I’m a _Mackintosh_!”

“You may be a _Humbereller_ for all I knows, but my fare’s heighteenpence!”]

_Old Gent (suddenly turning corner in narrow lane)._ “Oh!--I say!--Is he?--Will he?”--(_backing into hedge._)--“Can he?”----

_Peasant._ “Don’t take no notice of ’im, sir! I’ve got a wee bit check on ’im if he runs!!”]

_Old Gentleman, frae Aberdeen (at the Exhibition)._ “I say, Joack, look up the cat’logk an see fa that is wi’ the ‘Brechum’ [horse-collar] on!”]

_Doctor._ “Look here, Mrs. McCawdle. Don’t give him any more physic. A sound sleep will do him more good than anything.”

_Gudewife._ “E-h, docthor, if we could only get him tae the kirk!!”]

_Returned Native (to country carrier, who has given him a lift)._ “We don’t seem to be covering the ground so fast as we did twelve years ago.”

_Carrier._ “Ye’re wrang there, Mr. Broon, for it’s the same bit beastie!”]

_Sairgeant Mucklewham (more in sorrow than anger)._ “Halt! O Man Nummer Three, I wunner tae sae ye! Hoo can ye think Foreign Powers can ever respect ye, if ye wull persist in steppin’ three inches less than the regelation!”]

_Distracted Bandster._ “Komm avay--komm avay--ee zhall nod give you nodingsh--ee vill blay de moozeek erselbst! Teufel!”

[_They retreat hastily._]

_Dissipated Tradesman (to the expostulations of the minister)._ “Ye’re aye crackin’ at me about my drinkin’, sir, but you don’t consider my drooth!!”]

_English Angler (on this side of the Tweed)._ “Hi, Donald! come over and help me to land him--a 20-pounder I’ll swear----”

_Highlander (on the other)._ “It wull tak’ ye a lang time to lan’ that fush too, d’ye ken, sir, whatever!--Ye hae heuket the kingdom o’ auld Scotland!”]

_Cook._ “If ye wunt oil frae me, ‘keeper,’ ye’ll need to mind. Ma name’s no cook--ma name’s Misthress Macphairson!”

_Gamekeeper (with a sniff)._ “Weel, gin ye’re no to be ‘cook,’ I’m nae to be ‘keeper’! Ye’ll be as gude as gie me ‘Maisther Forr-biss’!!”]

_The New Doctor._ “Well, Mac, how is the little girl’s arm going on?”

_Mac._ “Weel, sir, my gudewife says it’s looking just fine whaur ye tattoo’d it.”]

_The Laird (to his Gardener, who had caught somebody trespassing)._ “Hum! And you say, Saunders, that the fellow was impudent?”

_Gardener._ “‘Impident!’ ’Deed, sir, if he had been the Laird himsell he could na hae been mair ill-bred!”]

_Southern Tourist (in Edinburgh)._ “Can you direct me to the Royal Institution?”

_Native. (Vacant Stare.)_ “What est?”

_Tourist (giving a Clue)._ “Pictures, you know--Statues--and----”

_Native (after much thought)._ “Oo!--et’s the Stukky Feggars ye mean!”--(_Pointing._)--“Yon’s et!”]

_Fair Client._ “I’m always photographed from the same side, but I forget which!”

_Scots Photographer (reflectively)._ “Well, it’ll no be _this_ side, I’m thinkin’. Maybe it’s t’ither!”]

_Porter._ “Train’s awa, man. Ye should hae ran faster.”

_Passenger._ “Ran faster! Dod, I ran fast eneugh, but I should hae startit sooner.”]

_Perplexed Old Lady (at Scottish Junction in a fog)._ “Ah hae ma bundle--an’ ah hae ma teeck’t--but fa’s the Deeside Rel-ro’d!!”]

_Scots Judge (with a very marked pug-nose)._ “Weel, noo, sir, if ye gae along the ro’d in question, where’ll ye gang tae?”

_Scots Witness (deliberately)._ “That a’ depends, yer honour, on how far ye gae!”

_Judge (snappishly)._ “Ye understan’ vera weel, sir. If ye follow yer nose, mun, where’ll ye gang till?”

_Witness (after a pause)._ “Ah’ve always heer-ed it said, yer honour, that if ye follow yer nose too far, it’ll tak’ ye t’ the moon!”

_Judge._ “Step doon, sir!”--(_In an angry aside_).--“The mon’s a fool!”]

_Mac._ “This is nae Sunday, mun!--it’s Wednesday----”

_Traveller._ “Not a bit of it! This is Sunday, I assure you----”

_Mac._ “Aweel! Think o’ that, noo! We hinna seen a sowl for three months, an’ there’s nae an almanack i’ the hoose, an’ we’ve gotten jummelt up a’ th’gether!!”]

_Malcolm._ “The watter!” (_Musing._) “Aweel, sir, I couldna’ bring mysel’ to care for that!”]

_Peter._ “Na, laddie, this is ane o’ thae things a body can never learn. There’s no nae use in a man takin’ tae _this_ job unless he has a naiteral born aptitude for’d!”]

_He of the ruffled temper._ “As sure’s ma name’s Tammas Paterson, I’ll hae the law o’ ye, though it should cost me hauf-a-croon!”]

Sandy McGuttle and a friend of his marking in butt. Officer in charge of squad at the shooting-range wonders why the deuce they don’t signal that last shot. He has also grave doubts about the number of bulls’-eyes already recorded.]

_Old Lady (who had been buying eggs)._ “’Deed, Mr. McTreacle, butchers’ meat’s sae dear now-a-days ah’m no able to buy’t!”

_Grocer._ “You should turn a vegetarian----”

_Old Lady._ “A veegetarian!--Na, na! ah was born an’ brocht up i’ the Free Kirk, an’ a’m no gaun ta change ma releegion i’ m’ auld days!”]

_Excited Citizen._ “Me? I’m the bailie--the heid bailie, mon! I catched this wee laddie feshin’ on the Sawbath day! Says he’s a Caath’lic--a Rooman Caath’lic!! E-h, it’s just dreadfu’ to think o’--feshin’ in a Protestant loch!! And o’ the Sawbath! Lord save us!”]

_He (Third-Class)._ “Come awa’! D’ye no see that’s a first-class?”

_She (ditto)._ “Aweel, on a busy day like this, we maun just put up wi’ _ony accommodation we can get!_!”]

_English Angler (on Saturday evening)._ “Anybody ever fish up here on a Sunday, m’um?”

_Scots Landlady (in consternation)._ “Hech, mon! ye’d be jail’t!!”]

(_NOT by Dr. Robert Munro._)]

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

* * * * *

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.”