MAKING THE BEST OF IT
Hendry had a way of resuming a conversation where he had left off the
night before. He would revolve a topic in his mind, too, and then
begin aloud, "He's a queer ane," or, "Say ye so?" which was at times
perplexing. With the whole day before them, none of the family was
inclined to waste strength in talk; but one morning when he was blowing
the steam off his porridge, Hendry said, suddenly--
"He's hame again."
The women-folk gave him time to say to whom he was referring, which he
occasionally did as an after-thought. But he began to sup his
porridge, making eyes as it went steaming down his throat.
"I dinna ken wha ye mean," Jess said; while Leeby, who was on her knees
rubbing the hearthstone a bright blue, paused to catch her father's
answer.
"Jeames Geogehan," replied Hendry, with the horn spoon in his mouth.
Leeby turned to Jess for enlightenment.
"Geogehan," repeated Jess; "what, no little Jeames 'at ran awa?"
"Ay, ay, but he's a muckle stoot man noo, an' gey grey."
"Ou, I dinna wonder at that. It's a guid forty year since he ran off."
"I waurant ye couldna say exact hoo lang syne it is?"
Hendry asked this question because Jess was notorious for her memory,
and he gloried in putting it to the test.
"Let's see," she said.
"But wha is he?" asked Leeby. "I never kent nae Geogehans in Thrums."
"Weel, it's forty-one years syne come Michaelmas," said Jess.
"Hoo do ye ken?"
"I ken fine. Ye mind his father had been lickin' 'im, an' he ran awa
in a passion, cryin' oot 'at he would never come back? Ay, then, he
had a pair o' boots on at the time, an' his father ran after 'im an'
took them aff 'im. The boots was the last 'at Davie Mearns made, an'
it's fully ane-an-forty years since Davie fell ower the quarry on the
day o' the hill-market. That settles't. Ay, an' Jeames 'll be turned
fifty noo, for he was comin' on for ten year auld at that time. Ay,
ay, an' he's come back. What a state Eppie 'll be in!"
"Tell's wha he is, mother."
"Od, he's Eppie Guthrie's son. Her man was William Geogehan, but he
died afore you was born, an' as Jeames was their only bairn, the name
o' Geogehan's been a kind o' lost sicht o'. Hae ye seen him, Hendry?
Is't true 'at he made a fortune in thae far-awa countries? Eppie 'll
be blawin' aboot him richt?"
"There's nae doubt aboot the siller," said Hendry, "for he drove in a
carriage frae Tilliedrum, an' they say he needs a closet to hing his
claes in, there's sic a heap o' them. Ay, but that's no a' he's
brocht, na, far frae a'."
"Dinna gang awa till ye've telt's a' aboot 'im. What mair has he
brocht?"
"He's brocht a wife," said Hendry, twisting his face curiously.
"There's naething surprisin' in that."
"Ay, but there is, though. Ye see, Eppie had a letter frae 'im no mony
weeks syne, sayin' 'at he wasna deid, an' he was comin' hame wi' a
fortune. He said, too, 'at he was a single man, an' she's been
boastin' aboot that, so you may think 'at she got a surprise when he
hands a wuman oot o' the carriage."
"An' no a pleasant ane," said Jess. "Had he been leein'?"
"Na, he was single when he wrote, an' single when he got the length o'
Tilliedrum. Ye see, he fell in wi' the lassie there, an' juist gaed
clean aft his heid aboot her. After managin' to withstand the women o'
foreign lands for a' thae years, he gaed fair skeer aboot this stocky
at Tilliedrum. She's juist seventeen years auld, an' the auld fule
sits wi' his airm round her in Eppie's hoose, though they've been
mairit this fortnicht."
"The doited fule," said Jess.
Jeames Geogehan and his bride became the talk of Thrums, and Jess saw
them from her window several times. The first time she had only eyes
for the jacket with fur round it worn by Mrs. Geogehan, but
subsequently she took in Jeames.
"He's tryin' to carry't aff wi' his heid in the air," she said, "but I
can see he's fell shamefaced, an' nae wonder. Ay, I'se uphaud he's
mair ashamed o't in his heart than she is. It's an awful like thing o'
a lassie to marry an auld man. She had dune't for the siller. Ay,
there's pounds' worth o' fur aboot that jacket."
"They say she had siller hersel," said Tibbie Birse.
"Dinna tell me," said Jess. "I ken by her wy o' carryin' hersel 'at
she never had a jacket like that afore."
Eppie was not the only person in Thrums whom this marriage enraged.
Stories had long been alive of Jeames's fortune, which his cousins'
children were some day to divide among themselves, and as a consequence
these young men and women looked on Mrs. Geogehan as a thief.
"Dinna bring the wife to our hoose, Jeames," one of them told him, "for
we would be fair ashamed to hae her. We used to hae a respect for yer
name, so we couldna look her i' the face."
"She's mair like yer dochter than yer wife," said another.
"Na," said a third, "naebody could mistak her for yer dochter. She's
ower young-like for that."
"Wi' the siller you'll leave her, Jeames," Tammas Haggart told him,
"she'll get a younger man for her second venture."
All this was very trying to the newly-married man, who was thirsting
for sympathy. Hendry was the person whom he took into his confidence.
"It may hae been foolish at my time o' life," Hendry reported him to
have said, "but I couldna help it. If they juist kent her better they
couldna but see 'at she's a terrible takkin' crittur."
Jeames was generous; indeed he had come home with the intention of
scattering largess. A beggar met him one day on the brae, and got a
shilling from him. She was waving her arms triumphantly as she passed
Hendry's house, and Leeby got the story from her.
"Eh, he's a fine man that, an' a saft ane," the woman said. "I juist
speired at 'im hoo his bonny wife was, an' he oot wi' a shillin'!"
Leeby did not keep this news to herself, and soon it was through the
town. Jeames's face began to brighten.
"They're comin' round to a mair sensible wy o' lookin' at things," he
told Hendry. "I was walkin' wi' the wife i' the buryin' ground
yesterday, an' we met Kitty McQueen. She was ane o' the warst agin me
at first, but she telt me i' the buryin' ground 'at when a man mairit
he should please 'imsel. Oh, they're comin' round."
What Kitty told Jess was--
"I minded o' the tinkler wuman 'at he gae a shillin' to, so I thocht I
would butter up at the auld fule too. Weel, I assure ye, I had nae
suner said 'at he was rale wise to marry wha he likit than he slips a
pound note into my hand. Ou, Jess, we've ta'en the wrang wy wi'
Jeames. I've telt a' my bairns 'at if they meet him they're to praise
the wife terrible, an' I'm far mista'en if that doesna mean five
shillin's to ilka ane o' them."
Jean Whamond got a pound note for saying that Jeames's wife had an
uncommon pretty voice, and Davit Lunan had ten shillings for a
judicious word about her attractive manners. Tibbie Birse invited the
newly-married couple to tea (one pound).
"They're takkin' to her, they're takkin' to her," Jeames said,
gleefully. "I kent they would come round in time. Ay, even my mother,
'at was sae mad at first, sits for hours noo aside her, haudin' her
hand. They're juist inseparable."
The time came when we had Mr. and Mrs. Geogehan and Eppie to tea.
"It's true enough," Leeby ran ben to tell Jess, "'at Eppie an' the
wife's fond o' ane another. I wouldna hae believed it o' Eppie if I
hadna seen it, but I assure ye they sat even at the tea-table haudin'
ane another's hands. I waurant they're doin't this meenute."
"I wasna born on a Sabbath," retorted Jess. "Na, na, dinna tell me
Eppie's fond o' her. Tell Eppie to come but to the kitchen when the
tea's ower."
Jess and Eppie had half an hour's conversation alone, and then our
guests left.
"It's a richt guid thing," said Hendry, "'at Eppie has ta'en sic a
notion o' the wife."
"Ou, ay," said Jess.
Then Hendry hobbled out of the house.
"What said Eppie to ye?" Leeby asked her mother.
"Juist what I expeckit," Jess answered. "Ye see she's dependent on
Jeames, so she has to butter up at 'im."
"Did she say onything aboot haudin' the wife's hand sae fond-like?"
"Ay, she said it was an awfu' trial to her, an' 'at it sickened her to
see Jeames an' the wife baith believin' 'at she likit to do't."