|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.”