VI.
SANDY'S SECOND LESSON IN GEOMETRY.
Wi' a' his foiterin' weys, there's a winderfu' speerit o' independenceaboot Sandy, d'ye ken? He disna care aboot being dawtit by onybody,especially by folk he disna like. Juist the ither day, for instance,Sandy was jumpin' doon aff the fore-end o' his cairt. His fit hadtickled in aboot the britchin somewey, an' he cam' lick doon on thebraid o' his back i' the gutter. The bobby was stanin' juist ower theroad at the time, an' cam' rinnin' across wi' his moo wide open.
"Keep me, Sandy, cratur," he says, "what's happen'd? Did you fa' affthe cairt?"
"G'wa an' mind your ain bizness," says Sandy, jumpin' up, an' gienhimsel' a shak. "The cairt's my nain; I can come doon afen't ony wey Ilike."
The bobby gaed awa' rubbin' his chin. "Dod," he saya to Stumpie Mertinat the corner o' the street "that man Bowden's the queerest jeeger everI cam across. He cam' thrash doon on the kribstane there i' the noo,an' when I ran anower to see if he was ony waur, he juist gae meimpidence, an' said he cud come doon aff his cairt ony wey he liket.Did you ever hear the like?"
"He's a queer chield, Sandy," said Stumpie. "There's some folk thinkshe wants tippence i' the shillin', but it's my opinion there's abootfourteenpence i' the shillin' o' him. He's auld wecht; mind I tellyou."
That's exactly my ain opinion, d'ye ken; an' it akinda astonished me tohear Stumpie speakin' sense for ance in's life. He's uswally juist ahaverin' doit.
But that's no' what I was genna tell you aboot. Sandy and BandyWobster have had a terriple fortnicht's colligin' thegither. Everyither nicht they've been ether i' the washin'-hoose or i' the garret;an' Sandy's been gaen aboot scorin' a' the doors wi' kauk, an' makin'rings an' lines like railroads an' so on a' ower them.
"What's this you an' Bandy's up till noo?" I says to Sandy the ithermornin', juist when we were sittin' at oor brakfast. "I howp noo,Sandy," I says, says I, "that you'll keep clear o' the eediotikalpliskies you played lest winter."
"You can wadger your henmist bodle on that," says Sandy, as he took arive ooten a penny lafe. "There's to be ither kind o' wark on thiswinter. Bandy an' me's been busy at the gomitry. Man, Bawbie, it'sraley very interestin'. You mind I spak to you aboot some o' thetriangles an' things that it tells you aboot afore?"
"Weel, look here, Sandy," I says, "I notice you've been scorin' everydoor aboot the place wi' your triangles, an' they're juist the veryshape o' the ane Ekky Hebbirn played in the flute band; an', as Itolled you afore, I'm no' to hae ane o' them aboot the hoose. Preserveme, man, you'll get as muckle music oot o' the taings, an' mair."
"Keep on your dicky, 'oman," says Sandy. "You're clean aff the scenta'thegither. There's nae music aboot gomitry triangles ava. They'venaething to do wi' music. They're for measurin' an' argeyin' ootthings till a conclusion. Flute bands! Sic a blether o' nonsense. Imaun lat you see the triangle book. We was haen a bit rin ower theexyems again lest nicht juist. Noo, juist to gie you an idea, Bawbie!You mind I tell'd you the exyem aboot things bein' equal to ane anitherwhen they're equal to some ither thing that's equal to the things thatare equal to ane anither?"
"I mind aboot you haiverin' awa' some nonsense o' that kind," says I;an', as fac's ocht, I cud hardly haud frae lauchin' at the droll lookon Sandy's face.
"Weel," he gaed on, "that was the first exyem; the henmist is that thewhole is greater than its pairt. That means, d'ye see, for instance,that my cairt's bigger gin the trams."
"Hoo d'ye mak' that oot?" says I. "Michty me, man, if the trams werenae bigger gin the cairt, hoo wud Donal' get in atween them? Thething's ridic'lous."
"You're no' seein't," says Sandy. "Tak' the back door o' the cairt,for instance. The back door's only a bit o' the cairt, isn't? Weel,than, shurely the cairt's bigger than the back door."
"You're haiverin' perfeck buff," says I. "The back door's juist exaklythe same size as the cairt, or you wud never get it fessend on. Onybairn kens that, gomitry or no gomitry."
"Bliss my hert, Bawbie," says Sandy, gettin' akinda peppery, "shurelyto peace a scone's bigger than a bit o' a scone."
"There's nae doot aboot that," says I, "if the scone that you have abit o' is nae bigger gin the scone that's bigger gin the bit o' theither ane."
"That's teen for grantit, of coorse," says Sandy.
"But I dinna see hoo that mak's ony difference to the back door o' thecairt," says I, I says.
Sandy took a gey wild-like bite at his row, an gae twa-three o' hischuck-chucks, an' then he says, "Man, Bawbie, you weemin fowk have naerizzenin' faculty. Naebody wi' ony logic wud need twa looks to seebrawly that onything's bigger than a bit o't, or, as the book says,that the whole's greater than its pairt. That's self-evident. Tak'the Toon Cooncil, say. It's shurely bigger than ony ane o' theCooncillers."
"Is't na?" I brook in gey quick. "Juist you speer at BailieThingymabob, an' you'll shune find oot whuther he thinks the ToonCooncil or him the biggest o' the twa."
"Auch, Bawbie; you're no wirth argeyin' wi'," says Sandy. "You've ayesic a desjeskit wey o' lookin' at things. What's the sense o'bletherin' aboot Bailie Thingymabob? Preserve me! if he's only anechteent pairt o' the Toon Cooncil, shurely common sense 'ill lat yousee that the Toon Cooncil's bigger than he is. Ony bit loonie in thetower-penny cud see that in a blink."
"Very weel," says I; "juist speer at Bailie Thingymabob himsel'. I'llswag, if you tell him he's only an echteent pairt o' the Toon Cooncil,he'll be dealin' wi' anither tattie man gin neist mornin'. Sandy,loonikie, your exyems may do amon' your triangles an' sic likefyke-facks an' kyowows, but they're a' blethers you see brawly onyither wey."
What a raise Sandy got intil! He was that kankered that he took twa orthree ill-natured rives o' a shreed o' breed, an' a gullar o' tea, an'fair stankit himsel'. It gaed doon the wrang road, an' Sandy wasnearhand chokit.
"Sairs me richt for argey-bargeyin' wi' a doited cratur that canna seea thing that's as plen's a pikestaff," he says, efter he had gotten hisnose blawn. Syne he cowshined doon a bittie, an' says, wi' a bitsnicker o' a lauch, "I maun hae you tried wi' the pond's ass anowerim."
"An wha micht he be?" says I.
"That's the fift proposition, Bawbie," says Sandy. "It's ca'ed thepond's ass anowerim. That's Latin for the cuddy's brig. If you cannaget ower't, you're set down for an ass."
"Have you been ower't, Sandy?" I says, says I.
"No' yet," he says, never lattin' wink that he noticed the dab I had athim; "but I'm beginnin' to see throo't, I think. Gin I had anitherglisk or twa at her I'll be on the richt side o' her, I'se wadger."
Fient a glint o' sense cud I see in Sandy's palaver; so I says, saysI--"What is this fift proposition you're haiverin' aboot?"
"Weel, it's juist this," says Sandy; an' he began to mak' a lot o'fairlies wi' his finger amon' the floor aff the rows on the table."Look sae, there's what ye ca' a soshilist triangle. Weel, you see thetwa corners at the doon end o' her hare? They're juist the verymarrows o' ane anither; an' if you cairry the lines at the side o' themhere a bit farrer doon, an' get in ablo the boddam o' the triangle,ye'll find that the corners aneth the boddam are juist the very marrowso' ane anither too. D'ye see?"
"Ay, Sandy," I says, says I, "you'll better awa' an get Donal' yokit.I dinna ken what use thae soshilist triangles an' ither feelimageerieslike hen's taes are genna be to you, but I howp they'll no' be learnin'ye to gie fowk jimp wecht, or it'll juist be the ruin o' your trade.I've nae objections to you haein' a hobby; but shurely you cud get abetter ane gin a lot o' thae blethers o' Bandy Wobster's. Get ane o'thae snap-traps, or whativer ye ca' them, for takin' photographs; geton for the fire brigade or the lifeboat, join the Rifles or something.There wud be some sense in the like o' that. But fykin' an' scutterin'awa' amon' exyems, as you ca' them, an' triangles, an' a puckle thingslike laddies' girds and draigons, that nae livin' sowl cud mak' ethereechie or ochie o'----Feech! I wudna be dodled wi' them; juist a loto' laddie-paddie buff."
Sandy jamp aff his
seat an', rammin' on his hat, gaed bang throo theshop, yatterin', "Auch, haud your gab; that claikin' tongue o' yoursmak's me fair mauchtless. I micht as weel argey wi' the brute beast i'the swine-crue till I was black i' the face." An' oot at the door hegaed, halin't to ahent him wi' a bang that garred the very sweetiebottles rattle.