Chapter I (1)

Geordie Armstrong, after a somewhat stormy past, had become a steady hewer, and a local preacher of some repute. Never a Sunday but he was 'planned' to speak at this or that village, and frequently, as he found opportunity, would 'pit in a bit overtime' at a 'class-meeting' or 'knife-an'-fork tea,' when the 'asking a blessing' or a returning of thanks might furnish occasion for a 'bit extemporizin'.' He was in receipt of excellent wages down the pit; his worldly goods comprised, as he often proclaimed, a 'bonny, an' what's o' far mair importance, a godly missus, three canny bairns, a cosy hoos, a fine little librairee, an' a tarr'ble fertile garden.'

As he thought upon the sum of his blessings one Saturday night when, after having 'weshed hissel' an' had his tea,' he proceeded to light his pipe, he felt he could only properly describe himself as a 'varitable corn-u-cop-ye-ar ov happiness.'

Yet even then, even in that depth of felicity, an uneasy feeling would intrude: the memory of Scotty would float to the surface of his mind, and the thought of the 'parlous state' in which his old 'marrow' (mate) stood would ruffle its calm placidity.

This was 'the little rift within the lute'; here was the caterpillar in the 'corn-u-cop-ye-ar,' and, like the Apostle Paul of old, he was fain to accept his trial, in the spirit of true humility, as a judgment upon him for the failings of his past life.

It was not for lack of trying that Scotty refused to come to chapel; indeed, Geordie had so vexed him with his importunity that Scotty had refused to work with him any longer, and was now employed further 'in-by' with another mate. But for all that, Geordie felt certain that the cause of failure lay with himself, due probably to his weakness in faith, to lack of some essential or other, and that the blame of Scotty's not being 'brought to the Lord' lay at his door.

It had been evident to him for some time that he must try other means, and, being a great reader, he had latterly come across, and been much attracted by, a remarkable account of some ancient methods of the 'Jesu-ytes' in cases of this sort.

Sometimes the sinner in question had been unwittingly tempted into the 'narrow path' by the gratification of his ambitions on some point or other, conversion resulting, as in the case of Tom Appleby--once a fire-hot Socialist, now a sleek Conservative--from unexpected prosperity.

At other times the same end had been attained by a crafty flattery. Suppose a man ambitious of eminence and State distinction: he might be diverted from politics to the Church, and many were the instances given of bold and ambitious men who had done great work and attained high place as the servants of St. Peter.

Could Scotty not be caught hold of in some such fashion? queried Geordie to himself, as he sat by his fireside that night, deeply pondering the records he had just been studying. 'I divvn't think he's ambitious, for he cares nowt aboot politics, an' he never even thought o' stannin' for election on wor Parish Cooncil. Aal he cares for is his beer, an' his quoits, an' bettin', an'--an'--his pansies; an' I doot I cannot catch haud ov him in any one of those partic'lors, for it wouldn't be fittin' for us that's a local preacher to gan an' send him a barril o' beer, or back him at a quoitin' match. But stay--there's the pansies; he's pansy champion, dootless; but then I's leek champion, an' if I can grow leeks, I's warn'd but I can grow pansies, for flooers is easier grown nor vegetables.'

Geordie puffed at his pipe vigorously for a minute or two in silence as he turned the matter over in his mind.

A light kindled slowly in the back of his deep-set eye, a smile showed upon his lips, then he cuffed himself vigorously upon the knee.

'Ho-way, gan on, Geordie!' he encouraged himself aloud; 'thoo's turnin' a fair Jesu-yte, I's warn'd!'

* * * * *

As the day appointed for the annual meeting of the Flower Show drew near, Geordie had been heard to drop hints of the 'wonnerfu' new specie' of pansies he had become possessed of--'seedlin's' he had obtained 'doon the south-country way,' and it was not long before the rumour reached the ears of Scotty.

Nothing could exceed the contempt of the latter when he heard of Geordie's trying to grow pansies--'him that's just a vegetable man, a tormut (turnip) grower, a sort o' ha'penny farmer,' and as for anything good in the way of seedlings coming out of the south-country, it was just 'bang ridi'klous, for a' folk kenned that a' the best growers lived in auld Scotland.'

By-and-by some mischievous individual told Scotty that Geordie was 'full' set upon being pansy champion, and was so cock-sure about it that he was willing to back himself to win.

Scotty was so annoyed at this that the next time he came across Geordie he could not refrain from jeering at his attempt at pansy growing. 'Wey, it'll be as muckle as ye can do to tell a pansy frae a vi'let!' he cried.

Geordie looked at him seriously from under his bushy eyebrows as he replied, 'I's gannin' to show--an' I's gannin' to win--_wi' pansies, not vi'lets_.'

'Will ye back yorsel', then?' retorted his opponent sneeringly.

'Well, ye knaa,' replied the other slowly, with evident embarrassment, 'I's not a bettin' man, but if thoo thinks I's not in earnest, I's willin' to gie a proof that I is. What d'ye say to yor takin'--if ye beat us, that is--anythin' oot o' my hoos thoo has a fancy for; an'--an'--if I beat thoo, wey, aal I axes is that thoo should come to chapel--noo an' again, ye knaa--ov an evenin',' he hastily added, as his companion's face assumed a look of infinite scorn.

'Ha' ye got that auld double-barrelled shot-gun yet?' queried Scotty, after a pause in which he had arrived at the conclusion that the odds were 'aboot a thoosand to one' in his favour.

'Yes,' replied Geordie. 'I still have her; she's there hangin' up above the mantelshelf.'

'Well, I'll tak' up wi' yor proposal,' was Scotty's reply.

'Shake hands on't, then,' said Geordie slowly, unsuccessfully endeavouring to instil an apprehensive tremor into his voice.

His companion shook hands carelessly, and swung away whistling barefacedly, 'And it's up wi' the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee.'

Geordie, on his part, walked away swiftly homewards, fearing lest his exultation might betray itself too openly. 'Wow!' he thought to himself, 'but I's fair a-feard o' mysel'. I's growin' intiv a proper Jesu-yte!'

The morning of the show-day came, and Geordie, having finished packing his exhibits with extraordinary care, had just returned with the small cart the grocer had lent him to convey his treasures to the show-field, about a mile and a half distant, when up came Maggie, Scotty's wife, who, notwithstanding the little difference between their respective men, had always kept up her friendship with Geordie's wife. Her arms bore a large green case, tied round with a many-knotted cord. This she hastily set down beside the cart, then turned breathlessly to Geordie, who, with his son, was just about to drive off.

'Eh noo, canny man,' she cried, as she wiped her hot face with the tail of her gown, 'do us a favour. Will thoo carry my man's pansy-case up to the show wi' yors? Wor Jimmy was to have taken it up first thing this mornin', but he went aff for his school treat an' left it--an' my man's awa playin' hissel' at quoits--an' he'll aboot kill Jimmy when he gans up to the show an' finds his pansies isn't there.'

Geordie willingly acceded, and the green case was carefully deposited alongside of his own at the bottom of the cart.

His nine-year-old son squatted on the seat opposite, his legs up to his chin, so as to be out of the way as much as possible in the crowded cart. The pony started off gallantly enough, and all went well till within about two or three hundred yards of the field. At that point, however, the pony suddenly shied at some stray paper on the road, and Tommy fell with a crash upon the green case below.

'Eh, Tommy, lad!' cried his father in dismay; 'what hast thoo done? Wow! but thoo's gan an' smashed Scotty's case right thro' an' thro'!'

His succeeding feeling was one of joy; for, the accident having irreparably damaged a third at least of his rival's pansies, it was evident that Scotty was now 'catched,' and Geordie, with an inward acknowledgment to Providence, saw, as in a vision, Scotty sitting devoutly 'under' himself in chapel.

A few moments later, however, doubt and dismay entered his soul. What if Scotty should say Tommy had done it 'o' purpose'--at his instigation? Further reflection convinced him that this was exactly what Scotty would say, and doubtless there would be some folk unkind enough to back him up in it.

Scotty would likelies claim the gun. Well, he'd not mind parting with that, but he could not give up the prospect of saving Scotty's soul alive without a groan.

'Eh, Tommy, lad! Eh, Tommy! But thoo divvn't knaa what thoo's done; thoo's put us in a fine quandary,' he murmured, gazing sadly now at Tommy, who was rubbing his knee ruefully, and again at the splintered case. The problem was a 'puzzlor;' even a Jesu-yte might have found solution difficult; for Scotty, he knew, would not believe him if he told the simple story of the accident, and winning the prize would be useless in the face of Scotty's insinuations of foul play.

The only way out of the difficulty, he determined sadly, was to exhibit his own pansies under Scotty's name, and withdraw from the contest himself. The contents of the two cases were sufficiently alike for his purpose, though his own were superior in size and depth of colour. It was a 'sair trial,' for his pansies were bound to win; but his character as an honest, religious man was at stake, and Scotty's triumph would be easier to endure than his sneers, if defeated, at a 'chap who caa's hissel' releegious, an' swindles ye like a Jew pedlar.'

With a groan he undid the label, and tied it on to his own beloved specimens, casting aside, as a temptation of the evil one, a disturbing suggestion that he was guilty of deception in passing off his own as Scotty's pansies.

* * * * *

The judges had been round, and Scotty's pansies easily gained the place of pride; pansies so perfectly developed, so dark and deep in colour, had never been shown before.

A crowd of admirers stood round. Scotty came lurching up, having evidently held a preliminary carouse in certain expectation of the championship, and, with a careless glance at his exhibits and the red card attached, cried triumphantly:

'Ay! an' whaur's that Geordie body noo, wi' his brags an' a'? Wey, I'm tauld he daurna even exhibit his ain puir specimens by the side o' mine! Look at thae pansies, an' think o' him wi' his yaller sheep's tormuts tryin' to vie wi' me that's the auld established pansy champion! Ay, I'm that ower an' ower again; an' what's mair, I've win his gun. Wey, I'll gang an' fetch her awa at aince!'

So boasting, the proud champion reeled off in triumph, inadvertently knocking up against a silent looker-on, who was standing in melancholy guise against a tent-pole some little distance away.

One morning, a day or so after the flower-show, it chanced that Tommy was late for school, and, rounding a corner hurriedly, ran up against a big boy, who was sporting a pansy in his buttonhole. The big boy, who was Scotty's son, immediately proceeded to cuff him for his carelessness, and Tommy retorted by "calling"[18] his opponent and his family connections with a ready profuseness.

'Wey, even that pansy thoo's sportin' divvn't belong thoo, nor thy feythor nowther, it's my dad's growin'; he showed his ain pansies as Scotty's, 'cos Scotty's happened an accident i' the cart. Feythor took them up for yor mither, 'cos thoo had forgottened them, an' to save thoo a strappin'; an' feythor's pansy champion, and Scotty's nowt but a beer-barril!'

'Liar!' responded the other boy, with a punch of his fist.

'Ax yor mither, then,' shouted Tommy, as he ducked and broke away from his captor's clutch.

A night or two after this encounter Geordie was surprised by a visit from Scotty.

'Whatten a tale's this ye're spreadin' aboot o' yor showin' yoor pansies as mine, I'd like to ken?' demanded the intruder wrathfully.

Geordie looked up quietly from his book, and: 'I've spread no tales aboot thoo or thy pansies,' he replied.

'Weel, it's either thoo or that wee, impittent son o' yoors, Tommy. Noo, I've been axin' my missus aboot it, an' she says she did gie ye my pansies to tak' up to the show wi' yoors; an' what I want to be at is what i' the deil's name ye did to them.'

Geordie, in reply, exactly related what had occurred.

'Then, wey didn't ye tell us aboot it?' demanded Scotty, still dissatisfied.

'Because thoo has a tarr'ble sharp tongue i' thy mouth, an' I divvn't want to be scandalized aboot the village as one who would sharp another for the sake o' winnin' a floo'er prize.'

'Hum!' ejaculated Scotty, 'it's an extraordinar' thing this! But hoo can ye explain aboot the pansies, then? I'm pansy champion, an' therefore thae pansies that win the prize mun ha' been mine, yet here ye are sayin' that they were yoors.'

Geordie got up from his seat, and, without immediately replying, went into the room at the back, and came forth again bearing in his arms a shattered green case.

'Dis thoo recognise this?' he asked quietly, as he set it down on the table in front of his visitor.

'Ay,' replied Scotty, after a minute inspection; 'it's mine dootless. But what then?'

'Wey, then, thoo has my case, an' my pansies inside ov it; an' here's yors still left i' their holes, just as they were on show-day.'

Scotty bent over the broken lid incredulously, lifted a faded specimen out, and regarded it contemptuously.

'Na, na,' he asserted shortly, 'that's no my pansies; mine were champions, an' these is weeny things. Na, na, there's been a bit queer play about this. Maybe Tommy changed them frae the one case to the ither.'

'Tommy did nowt o' the sort,' retaliated Geordie quickly. 'Aal that was done was to untie the label an' clagg (stick) it on to my case instead o' yors.'

'Weel, it's a dommed queer thing aaltegither,' replied Scotty, pushing his cap from his brow, 'and beyont me; for I'm champion, nobody can deny that, an' a proper professor at floo'er growin', an' ye're but an ammytoor, d'ye see? An' it's just surprising to me that ye could e'er imagine ye could compete wi' me. But I divvn't wish to be ower hard on ye, an' I'll e'en gie ye the benefit o' the doot, as the saying is; sae I'll just send ye back yoor gun--that is,' he continued slowly, eyeing Geordie wistfully, 'if ye're wishfu' to ha' her back.'

'Thoo can keep her,' replied Geordie, 'for it's nae use to me nowadays; but I would like--I would be tarr'ble pleased if thoo would come----' Here he halted abruptly, on a sudden fear lest Scotty's suspicions of some underhand play in regard to the pansies might be again roused if he too openly requested him to come to chapel.

The other hesitated a little. 'Weel,' he said finally, 'it's a canny wee gun, an' I would gey like to keep her. An' as for chapel gangin'--for I suppose that's what ye're after--if ye divvn't blab aboot us, wey, I'll just tak' a look in noo an' again.'

'That's right, noo,' responded Geordie gratefully, and his deep-set eyes glowed with a warmer light. 'Shake hands on't.'

Scotty shook hands without demur and swiftly departed, fearful lest Geordie might regret the arrangement.

Geordie leant back in his chair and heaved a sigh of relief as he offered up a silent thanksgiving to Providence for having softened Scotty's heart.

'It's aal right noo,' he murmured. 'Wi' the help I've had from above I've catched him at the finish, an' chapel will do the rest.'

Thus for some time he reflected devoutly. Then of a sudden a smile broke upon his lips and he clapped his hand vigorously upon his thigh. 'By!' he exclaimed aloud, 'but I's a proper Jesu-yte efter aal!'

FOOTNOTE:

[18] Abusing.

'GEORDIE RIDE-THE-STANG'

The custom of 'riding the stang' is now obsolete, so that the date
of this story must be put back a number of years, though Mr.
Brockett,[19] writing in his glossary of Northumbrian words, in the
early part of this century, says, 'I have myself been witness to
processions of this kind. Offenders of this description are mounted
a-straddle on a long pole, or stang, supported upon the shoulders
of their companions. On this painful and fickle seat they are borne
about the neighbourhood backwards, attended by a swarm of children
huzzaing and throwing all manner of filth. It is considered a mark
of the highest reproach, and the person who has been thus treated
seldom recovers his character in the opinion of his neighbours.'
The method of divination by the puddings has been practised within
living memory, and even yet may be resorted to by way of a jest
upon occasion.

Since writing the above the author has come across in Mr. R.
Blakeborough's interesting book, 'Yorkshire Wit, Character and
Customs,' a different version of 'riding the stang,' to which he
is indebted for the first four lines of the 'furrinor's' song. In
a footnote Mr. Blakeborough adds that the 'stang' was ridden at
Thoralby, Wensleydale, as recently as October, 1896.

There was French blood in Geordie Robertson's wife, Mary, and it may perhaps have been owing to her origin that she was so eager for revenge when she found herself deceived by her husband.

She had begun to suspect him of infidelity even before a neighbour had given her a hint that he had a 'fancy' wife away in Bridgeton, for her husband brought home less and less with his 'pack' after his weekly tramp was over, and when she asked for explanations he 'called' her with most abusive virulence.

For her further satisfaction she determined to make trial, now that the pig was to be killed, of the ancient method of divination practised by the pit-wives, of which the following is the ritual:

When the animal has been slaughtered and the blood duly made into puddings, these puddings are 'set away' to boil by the inquirer of the oracle. Then, just before they are taken out of the 'pot,' the officiating priestess must say aloud that she 'gives them' to him who is suspected of infidelity. Should the puddings emerge whole, gossip is dumfoundered; should they come forth broken, the man is proved to have a 'fancy' wife.

Mary, indeed, found she could scarcely control her impatience when the fatal day came, and, the pig duly slaughtered, she 'gave' the puddings to her husband, Geordie.

She waited another minute to give the spell the lawful grace, then with a trembling hand plucked forth the puddings.

'Ah--ah!' she gasped, tremulous but triumphant, 'then it is so; he has a fancy wife,' and her quick brain fell to pondering a plan for discovery and revenge.

The first thing to be done was to lure her 'man' into a false security by subtle commiseration with him on the 'slackness' of trade, as also by a wonderful submissiveness, even to the extent of going without bacon for breakfast in order that she might save enough to buy him tobacco. Now this form of procedure with a selfish man usually produces excellent results. If he is sufficiently selfish, he does not stay to inquire why or wherefore, but takes all he can, as a cat her cream, without delay, without a thank you--nay, unlike tabby, without even an inward purr.

It was so with Geordie, who began incontinently to brag about his 'missus's trainin',' and how he was 'champion' at 'fettlin' a wife's nonsense,' and, swollen with self-satisfaction, began now to treat her with a sort of contemptuous toleration.

A fortnight or so after Mary had made trial of her puddings, Geordie carelessly mentioned the fact that he would be away over the 'week-end' in and about Bridgeton, and demanded some 'brass' from her for the replenishing of his 'pack.'

Outwardly submissive, she gave him five shillings from her small savings, but inwardly determined that it was the last sum of money he should have from her.

On Friday night Geordie departed gaily for Bridgeton, and on the Saturday afternoon Mary followed suit, clad in a thick cloak which might serve her for a disguise upon occasion.

When she arrived there, the main street and market were thickly crowded with a swarm of holiday-making pitmen, country folk, farmers and their wives, hinds, male and female, for it was the date of the annual fair and hiring, of 'the general assembly' of tramps, pedlars, 'tinklers' (tinkers), show-men, and the like, whose business it is to attend such gatherings.

In such a crowd Mary felt safe from recognition, but it might be a difficult task to discover her 'man' in all that company.

An hour or two passed, and she had been up and down the long street twice without success; but just as she was turning into a cheap refreshment-room, with 'Tea and coffy always redy' written in a slovenly hand upon a dirty placard in the window, she caught the sound of a voice raised in semi-drunken irritation close behind her which caused her to turn her head hurriedly in that direction.

Yes, there he was without doubt, her Geordie, heavy with liquor already--not 'mortal' yet, but quarrelsome. Aha! and that was the 'fancy' wife, of course, who had him fast by the arm--a blousy, red-faced, fat-armed, big chested woman, who was evidently trying to persuade her charge to come home much against his inclination. At sight of her rival--immodest, gross, overpowering--Mary shrank back aghast, and it was only after a struggle with herself and a forcible iteration of her wrongs, that she could persuade herself slowly and reluctantly to follow the couple in front of her.

'Ho-way!' shouted Geordie; 'there's Tom Turnbull ower by there tryin' ti lift weights an' show 's strength. Wey, but Tom cannet lift weights, he's nowt but a wee bit beggor. Tom, thoo beggor!' he challenged across the intervening throng of heads, 'thoo cannet lift weights; wey, Aa'l lift weights wi' thoo for a bottle o' whisky!'

'Ho-way, then, thoo aad fightin'-cock! but Aa give thoo fair warnin' Aa can beat thoo, for Aa's champion.'

At this, the 'fancy' wife seized her 'man' firmly by the sleeve, fearing doubtless lest, in his then 'muzzy' condition, Geordie would waste the scanty remainder of his brass upon a vain endeavour, and, by way of effectually dissuading him, indiscreetly praised his rival's prowess.

'No, no, Geordie, my man, come this way, an' give us my fairin'; wey, there's a mort o' things ti see yet; there's the shuttin'-gall'ry, an' the twa-headed cat, an' the giant, an' the fat woman, an' aal--ho-way. Ay, an' Geordie, hinny, Tom Turnbull's tarr'ble clivvor at liftin' they handles things an' drivin' the bolt up the stick wi' the hammer, an' Aa's warn'd but he'll bang thoo at that game.'

'Tom Turnbull!--that haalf-grown, bandy-legged beggor ov a bit tailor ov a man bang me? Gox! but Aa'll larn him a lesson. Aa'll cut his comb, Aa's warn'd!' and Geordie forthwith, murmuring maledictions, thrust blindly through the crowd till he reached the spot where his rival stood, the centre of an admiring circle of friends.

'Noo,' cried Geordie, turning up his wrist-cuffs, 'Aa'll show thoo hoo the thing's done when it's done proper. Wey, this bolt 'll hit the beam at the top when Aa gie the stump a bat!' and without more ado--amidst the jeers of some, and the encouragement of a few false friends--he seized the hammer, swung it round his head, and brought it down some feet wide of the mark--smash upon the cobble-stones of the market-place. 'That's done the business!' cried Geordie triumphantly, conscious from the stinging of his hands that he had 'gi'en it a champion bat,' and certain that he had driven up the bolt some feet above his rival's mark.

Through the roar of laughter, which Geordie complacently accepted as the proper accompaniment of Tom's defeat, a voice pierced suddenly with a shrill note as of a fife.

'Thoo great clumsy lubbert, see what thoo's done! Thoo's broke the hammer's head off! That's half a crown, my man, for the hammer, an' a penny for the shot; an' if thoo disn't hand it ower, I'll call the pollis, for it's fair takin' the livin' oot ov a poor weeda woman's mouth to break her hammer thet fashion!' and a thin-faced female, with a red-lined nose, sharp cheekbones, and watery eyes, held up two skinny fists in anger against him.

'Gan on, woman, gan on!' retorted Geordie indignantly; 'wey, it's thoo sh'd pay us, or gie us a cigyar, or a cokienut; for that bat o' mine hit the bull's-eye, Aa's warned.'

The shrill-voiced female renewed her protestations, and some of the bystanders joined in with additional explanations; but Geordie would have none of them. 'Gan on,' he retorted; 'gan awa home, an' wesh yor feyce! Wey, the hammer's as rotten as pash, for Aa brought her fair doon like a pick reet on top o' the stump. What else should maa hands be tinglin' for?'

The proprietress of the hammer, however, continued to assail Geordie with abuse, while at the same time the 'fancy' wife upon his other side endeavoured to drag him away, so that it need not surprise us if Geordie suddenly lost his temper, and turned heavily upon his tormentors.

He shook off the one, and flung down a shilling in payment of the supposed damage to the hammer; the other--the 'fancy' wife--he pushed roughly from him, with the result that she lost her balance, and fell whimpering in the mud, while Geordie lurched off to the nearest hostelry, muttering indignantly as he went, 'Aa's been fair mucked ower wi' women the day--just fair mucked ower.'

A swift inspiration gleamed in Mary's mind. For the punishment of Geordie she had already made due preparation, and now, if she could only persuade the 'fancy' wife, her triumph would be complete.

She noticed the woman angrily brushing the muck off her 'feast gown,' and at once made her way up to her and touched her gently on the arm. 'Ay,' she said quietly, as the other looked up with red and testy face, 'an' it's the same way he treats me;' holding her left hand loosely so that her marriage-ring was plainly conspicuous.

'So he has a lawful wife, an' yore her?' And the speaker gave a suspicious, all-embracing stare. 'Well,' she continued slowly, jealousy slipping, like some slow portcullis, from her eyes, 'he's had a change, has my lord! Forst, it was a thin lass like yorsel', an' noo it's a plump one like me. Ay, he's greedy, is Geordie; he winna be content wi' the one, like Jack Spratt, but wants both.'

'Ay, lass,' replied the other woman quietly, 'yore right: he's greedy an' selfish. That's the sort--a selfish good-like nowt, that lives on women, makes them keep him through life just as one does a babby; an' he's treated the pair ov us shameful--just shameful; but, hinny, I've a plan for a bit payment for him, an' if ye come aside a bit wi' me, I'll tell ye o't.' And she laid an appealing hand upon the other's, and affected with the disengaged one to brush the remaining dirt from the 'fancy' wife's skirt.

'Well, what is't?' said the latter, suffering herself to be led through the crowd to a quiet corner.

Mary at once proceeded, but with a cautious self-effacement, to detail her schemes for Geordie's discomfiture. 'It will not hurt him,' she protested, as her rival still sat silent, 'but it will pay him a bit for the way he's treated us'--here Mary's hand again occupied itself with the soiled dress--'and it will give ye the laugh over him. I've done wiv him mysel; I'm awa to France to-night or morning--that's where Grandfeyther was bred; he came to these parts selling onions at first, an' finally settled doon here to 'scape the soldierin'. An' I've money enough to pay the expenses,' she continued; 'an' for suthin' to eat an' drink an' the ticket.'

The 'fancy' wife looked at her somewhat hardly, suspicion rising to the surface of her eye. 'An' sae yore off to France, are ye?' she queried; 'ay, an' yore tired ov him? Well, mevvies he would say as he was tired o' thoo; but I've a grudge again' him for the way he's treat us to-day, spendin' aal my brass ower himsel' an' clartin' my gown an' all, an' I'll pay him for't, I's warn'd.' And her face darkened vindictively.

'That's right,' replied Mary swiftly. 'And now for the plan. Here's money for you to treat him with. Get him awa oot o' the public before he's had too much, an' bring him along wi' you by the last train from Bridgeton, an' I'll meet you wi' the "stang" ready for him, an' the lads, an' the music, an' all. Oh, but it'll all gan fine, ye-es, ye-es!'

So Mary, having handed over all that she could spare to her rival, departed for the railway-station with a view to catching an earlier train, and revising her preparations at the other end.

Her elation was complete. The only possible flaw in her subtly-devised plan lay in the moods of the 'fancy' wife. If Geordie continued to treat her roughly--and as he had now evidently settled down to the drink, he was almost certain to do so--she would be true to the arrangement; if not, she might relent, and keep Geordie from his house that night.

* * * * *

The train was overdue, and Mary waited with a feverish expectation at the station's descent amidst a small crowd of young men and boys to whom the idea of making anyone 'ride the stang' had appealed with an irresistible sense of novelty.

The custom, indeed, was obsolete, but all had heard of it, and the older men had often witnessed it in their youth, and some of them had collected near the station to criticise and superintend the performance.

The 'stang' itself was in readiness--having been lent to Mary on this occasion by the schoolmaster and antiquary of the village, whose father had been, as constable, its custodian in the old days.

And now at last the rumble of an approaching train was audible, and the group at once assumed an alert and eager air.

A crowd of tired excursionists slowly descended the narrow path from the station, men and women together, but there was no sign of Geordie or the 'fancy' wife. Mary's heart grew heavy within her; after all, then, she would have to depart without that sweet morsel--her revenge. The 'fancy' wife must have relented and informed Geordie of her plans.

'Ho-way,' cried a man in her ear, 'he's not comin' back the night; thoo's gi'en him a gliff mevvies.'

'Stay!' cried she swiftly, detaining him by the arm. 'What's that, then?' she whispered triumphantly, as at the tail of the procession of pleasure-seekers a couple became visible descending fitfully with wayward lurches.

'See there!' continued Mary eagerly, 'it's Geordie an' his "fancy" wife with him. Catch tight haud of him, an' mount him, an' carry him through the length o' the village on the "stang"--right to his very door; he canna get in though, for I've the key i' my pocket,' and Mary laughed with an inward glee.

Down came the couple slowly, Geordie abusing his companion, as he lurched against her heavily, for not progressing with more even footsteps, the woman saying nothing, but tightly gripping him by the arm, in order, doubtless, to keep him upright and also to prevent any attempt at escape.

The wicket-gate swung open, Geordie lurched through, and in a moment he was seized, hoisted into the air, a rough pole thrust through his legs, and the triumphal march began to the tune of a penny whistle, played by the local champion, a carter to trade, and a number of Jews' harps and toy trumpets with which a herd of small boys poured forth discordant revel.

'Gox! Aa's fallen intiv a sorcus (circus),' cried Geordie, in the first moment of astonishment, then, 'Leave haud ov us, ye great flamin' Irish---- What the devil's this Aa's astride o'?' adding with solemn dignity, 'Yore makin' a tarr'ble mistake. Aa's not Blondin, ti walk on a tight rope for ye; Aa's Geordie Campbell o' the Raa (Row), whe lives i' the hoos wi' the brass handle tiv't.'

'Ay, ay, we knaa thoo!' cried the chorus of urchins; 'thoo's Geordie, drunken Geordie, Geordie wi' the "fancy" wife. Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang! Eh, what a clivvor rider is Geordie! Thoo's a proper jockey, Geordie, an' thoo'll mevvies ride the winner i' "the Plate"[20] before thoo's finished wiv it.'

This idea tickled the carriers of the 'stang,' and Geordie's bearers were forthwith transformed into thorough-breds with a tendency to buck-jump. Hither and thither he rolled, dazed and bewildered, helplessly clutching at the heads of those near him for support, but his arms were seized, his legs tightly crossed below the 'stang,' and he swung from side to side, while the rougher boys, chanting rude doggerel over him, gathered and threw mud upon him. A trombone and a 'sarpint' here joined the noisy crowd, and to the varied strains of 'The Campbells are coming,' 'Weel may the keel row,' and 'Canny Dog Cappie,' Geordie was borne in triumph up the Row.

A 'furrinor' (foreigner, stranger) here joined the medley, a 'South countryman' from Yorkshire, who, chancing to have lately come to the village after some private experience of his own in stang-riding in one of the remoter Yorkshire vales, at once placed his services at the crowd's disposal.

Marching at the head of the procession, like the drum-major of a band, and beating together two saucepan-lids, he led the anthem.

Between the 'cling, cling, cling' of the lids his voice rose lustily:

'Ah tinkle, ah tinkle, ah tinkle tang,
It's not foor your part nor mah part
'At ah ride the stang,
But foor you, Geordie Robertson, who his wife did bang.'

Scarcely had he ended when the shrill trebles of the boys took up the wondrous tale, and in antiphony chanted their response:

'Up wiv a bump and down wiv a bang
Gans Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang;
A bump an' a bang for his deed sae wrang,
An' we'll larn him a lesson for ever sae lang.'

Then, to the full chorus, with complete orchestra of flute and fife, trombone and triangle, tin whistle and 'sarpint,' brass pot, pan, and saucepan-lids, the entire procession moved slowly onward.

Mary's eyes burned bright with exultation as she marched along in the crowd, not letting a single incident of the spectacle escape her notice, and as she watched she too joined in the chorus of 'Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang' without restraint.

The sound of the familiar voice roused the victim from the stupor into which the hustling, peltings, and shoutings had reduced him.

'Thoo ----,' he yelled, as he caught sight of her; 'then it's thoo that's at the bottom o' this? By, but if Aa wes free Aa'd----' But a stalk of cabbage thrown at a venture by a small boy on the skirts of the crowd here impeded his utterance, and Mary's voice rang out perhaps more triumphantly than before.

The 'fancy' wife, meanwhile, who had at first discreetly retired from public view and looked on at the procession from a distance, had shortly after joined the noisy throng, moved thereto by a sense of isolation, and also by a certain smouldering compunction. She looked around her irresolutely; she felt she had acted precipitately; certainly she was not deriving any advantage from the proceedings, whereas her rival was the leader of the revelry, dancing, clapping her hands, and carrying on like a 'Maypole lass.'

At this moment Mary inadvertently brushed against her, and in a moment the 'fancy' wife turned upon her like a spitfire. Clenching her fists and shouting vituperations, she tried to seize her by the hair. Foiled in this by an adroit swerve of Mary's under the 'stang,' she turned her fury upon Geordie's bearers, and with such success that to defend themselves they were forced to lower the pole to the ground. 'Noo, Geordie,' cried she, promptly thrusting the wooden weapon into his hands, 'mak' play wiv it, my man, ho-way,' and Geordie, realizing he was now free, lunged furiously in all directions, and scattered the crowd like chaff before him.

Steered by his 'fancy' wife, a way grew clear about them, and Geordie marched slowly, unsteadily forward, bearing the 'stang' like a battering-ram straight in front of him, down the remaining length of the Row, accompanied at a respectful distance by a rabble of the smaller urchins.

Right on past his house he went, out into the darkness beyond, and over the bridge at the end of the village, still tightly grasping the 'stang' himself, and tightly grasped in his turn by his 'fancy' wife.

The last train to Oldcastle happened to pass above the bridge at that moment, and a head leant far out through a carriage window.

'Ay!' a clear voice sounded, with a touch of derision on the night air--'Ay! that's right, haud him tight, for he wants it badlies.'

FOOTNOTES:

[19] Mr. Brockett died in 1842.

[20] The Northumberland Plate.

YANKEE BILL AND QUAKER JOHN

Quaker John was one of the best known figures in the small seaport town of Old Quay. Short of stature, heavy of tread, always quietly attired in a black suit, which varied not in cut from year to year; indeed, the same suit had once been known to do duty for three years together, till his wife one day, so 'twas said, handed them over to the chimney-sweep in mistaken identity. You might have told that he was of Puritan descent some yards away, but the 'letter of the law' in him had been softened down by the kindly genius of the old-fashioned Quaker. A genial twinkle lay in hiding at the back of his steadfast eye, and a smile was always 'at heel' beside his big and honest mouth.

A broad and spectacled nose completed the portrait of one in whom the harmlessness as of a dove did not of necessity efface the wisdom of the serpent. At least, so said Yankee Bill, who read character 'at sight'; but then, Bill was a disciple of that cynical logic which proclaims not only all priests to be humbugs, but all men immersed in business who make pretensions to piety to be hypocrites or fools.

He had happened to pass along the street one 'fourth-day' morning as John came out of the meeting-house, and overheard him address a remark about business to a Quaker friend at his side, and thereafter was merciless in ridicule. 'John's patent incubator,' he styled the meeting-house, 'for plot-hatching,' and pretended to be afraid of doing business with him on Wednesday afternoons for fear of being 'skinned.'

Bill was a waif from the seas who had somehow been thrown up at Old Quay a few years back, and having 'prospected around' and 'pegged out a claim' for himself in the indiscriminate region of commission business, life insurance, advertising agencies, secretaryships, and other nebulous formative processes, was now almost as well-known a figure in the town as Quaker John himself.

The chief foundation in any abiding friendship is a certain diversity of temperament which those who wondered at the mutual liking that had sprung up between the retiring stockbroker's clerk and the worldly Yankee had evidently overlooked. To John the American's audacity was a perpetual delight, tempered by occasional Puritan scruples as to whether he was justified in associating with so hardened an unbeliever. To Bill Coody the Quaker's reposefulness and quiet self-sufficiency were both a sleeping-draught and irritant.

Nothing delighted him more than to get a rise out of John; but John was hard to catch, and even when craftily inveigled into a theological argument, was extremely chary of entering into definite statements. Even when his position was most hotly assailed by the other, who made unsparing use of the _argumentum ad hominem_, reinforced by a store of malicious anecdotes of religious 'professors' all the world over, John never lost his temper, but mildly suggested that his antagonist was an Anarchist in disguise.

John himself, though immersed in business which some of the 'plain people' have been used to look askance at, lived after the simple fashion of the straiter sect.

After his day's work at the office, where as head clerk much responsibility lay on his shoulders, he would go straight home and employ his leisure on fine days in his garden, and on wet days in his library, for John was not only a book-collector, but also a reader.

One pipe of tobacco he allowed himself before going to bed on week days and two on 'first-days,' and flavoured his tobacco with a chapter of 'George,' as he styled in affectionate intimacy his favourite author (Mr. Meredith) on week-days, but a portion of Barclay's 'Apology' on 'first-day' evenings.

One evening John was sitting reading as usual, when the maid-servant came in to say that Mr. Coody wished to have a few words with him. 'Very well,' replied her master, laying aside 'George' with a sigh, and wondering what business Bill might have on hand to come at such an untimely hour.

In came his friend as unceremoniously as ever, and, sitting himself down on the sofa, drew vigorously at his cheroot for a minute or two before entering upon the topic that had brought him thither.

'Look here, John,' he exclaimed all at once, 'you're a confidential cuss, I guess, and I've got a scheme on hand that will "scoop the boodle" if properly carried out; and what I want to know is, whether your people will take a hand in it or no. It's a certain thing, and will go ahead like a runaway buggy anyway; but the less friction the better, so that if your people will grease the wheels a bit, so much the better for them and all consarned.'

'Tell me precisely what it is,' replied John cautiously, 'then I may be able to offer an opinion; but, of course, I can't say off-hand whether the firm will entertain the idea or not.'

'Waal,' replied Bill, 'I guess you're the firm pretty often, for your bosses are generally away huntin' or shootin' or foolin' around somewhere; anyway, your advice is generally listened to, I guess. Waal, to come to business. I'm fixin' up a new store on the most modern principles. I sell everything cheaper than anybody else anywhere in this little country of yours; any bloomin' thing that's asked for, why, it's there, delivered free to any part of the United Kingdom. Everybody comes along--Noah's Ark on a wet day ain't in it for the pushin' there'll be at our doors once we get opened out--and, another thing, everybody gets made into an automatic shareholder; for profits have to lie till they reach £5, when each man, woman, and child gets a share given them, will they, nill they--and you bet, John, they will. I tell you, the thing's fixed up, and is goin' to give Old Quay shocks. Why, I'm buyin' up here and there bankrupt stocks enough to bust the place with--pianners, hardware, bicycles, rose-trees, fam'ly Bibles, rat-traps--every taste will be suited, for I tell you cosmopolitanism ain't in it with Bill Coody. I tell you I'll be in a position to bust every single bicycle dealer in this little one-hoss place; every pianner dealer can shut up shop when I get started. Why, there won't be a pitman in Northumberland who hasn't got a demi-grand Eureka B. C. piano in his house in another three weeks' time, and every colliery village will have its Bayreuth Festival with "Canny Dog Cappie" and "Weel may the keel row" tinklin' away down each row.'

'But think of the poor shopkeeper!' John interrupted, aghast at this slaughter of the innocents.

'Now, John,' expostulated Bill, as one who reproves a child for foolishness, 'it's not "first-day," and you ain't "in meeting," so stick to business, if _you_ please. Waal, the thing's got to go, as I'm sayin', and the only question is, are your people goin' to join in or no? If not, I bust their little donkey go-cart of Supply Stores which they set up a few years back in South Street "for the mutual encouragement of thrift and the supply of the best articles at first-hand cost" as the prospectus says, combinin' philanthropy and five per cent, plus their commission on floatin' the shop. Now, I know how much they have in it, your bosses. J. B. has 10,000 shares, and young T. he has 5,000 out of a total of 30,000, so they're the largest shareholders in the concern, but Bill Coody has shares in it, too, John, he or his nominees. Likely you've noticed the shares have been jumpin' up a bit lately and been wonderin' what the jooce was up, eh?'

'Yes,' responded John quietly, endeavouring to conceal any disquietude he might feel; 'yes, I've noticed that.'

'Waal, we've got enough to bust their shop up pretty well, and if your people don't come into my showyard I'll give their shares away with a pound of tea,' and here he pulled out a handful of certificates from his trousers' pocket and flourished them in John's face, which was gradually growing longer as the other unrolled his arguments.

'But how did you get the necessary capital?' John inquired after a pause, professional curiosity piqued at this unexpected revelation of means.

'Waal,' replied the American, as he carelessly lit another cheroot, expectorating with relish into John's carefully-trimmed fire, 'I'll tell you straight out, for I'm one of them that goes straight to the point--fibbin' ain't in it with truthfulness, and bluffin's no good when the cards are on the table. Waal, I bank with the Old Bank here, and decent enough people they are, too, but a trifle slow, so no sooner did the Joint Stock Bank open out a new branch in Old Quay than in I go, and I says, "Look here, boss, I want £5,000 of the ready, and I'll bring you business," I says. Well, the boss rubs his hands in butter, and he says, "Sartinly, sartinly, Mr. Coody, we know your name well, sir; most happy to oblige, I'm sure, and much obliged if you could introduce us to a few of your friends," so after a bit more palaver and a deposit of some shares the deal's done. Waal, down the street goes Bill Coody, and into the parlour of the Old Bank, and says to the partners straight out: "Now, look here, gentlemen, there's no beatin' about the bush with me, and no frivolity in matters of business, and what I want is £5,000 straight down, which is the figure I've just been offered by the new Joint Stock Bank over the way. Now I like your style," I says, "and I should be sorry to leave you; but sentiment's not my style of doin' business, so there you have it." Waal, the old gentleman looked at me over his spectacles, same way as you do, John, and under his spectacles also, and offers me a pinch of snuff, while he and his partner waggle their heads together in a far-off corner of the room. Waal, after a bit more palaver and a little "pi" jaw thrown in gratis about the evils of speculatin', and a hope that a strange bank will not interfere with mutual friendly business relations, that deal's done, and Bill Coody has £10,000 to draw upon by feedin'-time that morning.

'Waal, John, I think you'll have the hang of it now, and will be able to advise your bosses as to what's best for them and the community, too, at large, and I want an answer--a regular business-like document--signed, sealed, and delivered, by this time to-morrow night, for there's a shipload of my goods in already and lyin' at the quay, and I can't let the thing dry-rot while two thickheads worry the situation out and try to tinker up a mind between them. So fix it up for them, John, yourself. Ta-ta; I must be off. There's a chap waitin' for me at the club on business.' And rising as he spoke, he went as unceremoniously as he came, leaving a trail of rank tobacco that was as penetrating to John's nostrils as his communications had been to his intellect.

John lit his pipe again, which had gone out as he listened to Bill's scheme, and thought for a while how 'George' would have dealt with the situation; how his penetrating intellect would have pierced through Bill's armour-plating, and revealed the naked artificer within.

Ah! if 'George' had only been there for five minutes, several of the questions that were troubling him might have received instant solution. He could not feel certain how far Bill meant business with his store. It was not all bluff, of course; but how much of it was bluff, how much business, he could not of himself determine.

It might be that he wanted to be bought off at a price, or be offered a post upon the directorate, or was merely a 'bull' of the shares. However, one thing was certain: there must be no shilly-shallying. Either Bill must be squared or he must be defied.

That was the question for him to determine. No doubt, from a strictly business point of view, the chief matter to be considered was which of the two courses was likely to prove most beneficial to his principals; but the thought of the poor shopkeepers was present in John's mind, and operated largely in influencing his mind in the direction of defiance. There was poor old Mrs. S----, for example, who kept herself and two grandchildren on the proceeds of a small florist's business, once her son-in-law's. What would happen to her if Bill were to flood the town with rose-trees at a shilling the dozen?

To-morrow was Saturday, and Bill demanded an answer by the evening. The next day being 'first-day,' he would have to satisfy his conscience--that 'still small voice' which, even in the silence of the meeting, interrogated him severely on his dealings during the past week, and permitted no subterfuge or evasive answer--and it was useless to think he could do so by pleading that he was only a subordinate, not an official, in this affair of the store. Well, so be it. It must be defiance, then--war to the knife--if Bill was in earnest; for to offer to put him on the directorate of the supply stores would merely mean setting up Bill's store under the old title.

John sat late as he pondered over the situation. Suddenly one of the Articles of Association of the stores flamed within the chamber of his brain, and a twinkle shone in his eye, as he reflected that it should enable him to mate Bill's cleverness at the very outset.

Bill had quoted from the prospectus, but he had evidently overlooked the Articles of Association, and John chuckled to himself delightedly as he recalled Article 5.

Shortly after seven next morning John might have been observed taking the air upon the quay, casting shrewd glances as he passed along. He had some suspicions concerning the amount of value of Bill's consignment of pianos, family Bibles, etc., and he thought he might possibly discover something for himself if he saw what vessels were lying at the quay.

There was a green-hulled brigantine from Norway lying alongside, but she was full of battens and pit-props; a steam-collier lay next, but she must simply be waiting there for stores or sailing orders. A tramp came next, apparently from America, by the labels on some of her packages that the cranes were already swinging overhead.

This, then, must be Bill's consignment, for there was nothing else in the river or at the quay that John could see that could possibly have anything on board for Bill or his stores.

As he stood there immersed in thought, a figure appeared on the deck above him, and, leaning his arms on the taffrail, regarded the scene below him with a gloomy air. 'The skipper,' thought John, as he noted his blue broadcloth and peaked cap, and on the spur of a sudden inspiration immediately accosted him.

'Fine morning, captain. I happen to have heard a rumour to the effect that you were wanting an offer for your cargo. If so, I might possibly get you an offer from a friend of mine--at a reasonable figure, of course.'