Part 1
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "WE'RE WAITING ON YOU, MUM," HE SAID TO HIS PARTNER _By Henry W. Kerr; R.S.A._]
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WEE JOHNNIE PATERSON & OTHER HUMOROUS SKETCHES
BY W. GRANT STEVENSON, R.S.A.
T. N. FOULIS EDINBURGH, LONDON & BOSTON MCMXIV
_New Edition, with additional sketches, published September 1914._
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
PREFACE
Laziness and modesty are my excuses for publishing the following Stories.
Being frequently accosted by friends and strangers, who say, "Would it be too much to ask you to write out one or two of your Stories for me, as I occasionally do a bit of reciting myself? and if you wrote out one or two for me I would be obliged," I feel that my spare evenings would be rendered monotonous by the repetition of writing them, and at the same time I have a diffidence in refusing; it has therefore occurred to me that an easy and pleasant way out of my embarrassment would be to have them printed, so that I could present copies to the gentlemen who honour me by their requests. Had it not been for chronic laziness I should have responded to a flattering letter from a gentleman in Natal, who wrote:
"DEAR SIR,--When in Edinburgh I had the pleasure of hearing you give some of your Stories, and if you would kindly write me out a few I would give them to the best of my ability,--and I am considered rather good at reciting,--and they would be greatly appreciated by the fellows here."
I have not answered the request, though the postage has been reduced from sixpence to twopence-halfpenny, and I often think how ashamed I should be if the stranger were to revisit Edinburgh and upbraid me for my want of courtesy. We are told to "be kind to strangers," and I have missed an opportunity.
With one or two exceptions, the Stories have appeared in the _Edinburgh Evening Dispatch_, and are here reprinted with the kind permission of the Editor. W. G. S.
This the Fourth Edition of _Wee Johnnie Paterson_ is being issued in compliance with repeated requests, in more convenient form and with new stories added. The authorship and paternity of "David and Goliath," having undergone various vicissitudes, is here inserted in compliance with perennial demands.
W. G. S.
THE LIST OF CONTENTS
WEE JOHNNIE PATERSON
BOYS
AN AMATEUR COOK
THE M'CRANKYS AT A PARTY
BURNS'S ANNIVERSARY AND THE MILDNESS OF THE SEASON
JOHNNIE GIBB'S FUNERAL
SPRING CLEANING
A MARRIAGE
AFTER-DINNER SPEECHES
"HOW D'YE DO?"
M'CRANKY'S BRACE OF GROUSE
M'CRANKY'S DECEPTIONS ABOUT GOLF
MRS. M'CRANKY AT THE INTERNATIONAL FOOTBALL MATCH
MR. M'CRANKY
THE SINGING LESSON
DAVID AND GOLIATH
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"WE'RE WAITING ON YOU, MUM," HE SAID TO HIS PARTNER ..... Frontispiece _By Henry W. Kerr, R.S.A._
"DROPPING A COPPER INTO THE DISH OF A BLIND MAN _By Henry W. Kerr, R.S.A._
"THE CONFOUNDED PAN WAS LEAKING, AND I HAD NOT NOTICED IT" _By J. A. Ford_
THE BRIG O' DOON _By J. Marjoribanks Hay_
"I'M JUST WASHIN' SOME PEENIES" _By R. M'Gregor, R.S.A._
TWO HAPPY HUSBANDS _By R. B. Nisbet, R.S.A._
"I'M FAIR LAME WI' THAE RHEUMATICS" _By W. Grant Stevenson, R.S.A._
WEE JOHNNIE PATERSON
Mrs. Johnstone was a woman who had a bad habit of being unable to tell one story at a time; she was always branching off with parenthetical observations. One day she came to me in a state of great excitement and said, "Isn't this an awfu' thing that's happened to wee Johnnie Paterson?"
"I haven't heard about it," I said. "What is it?"
"Weel, I'll tell ye hoo it happened, John--tuts, excuse me ca'in' ye John--that's my man's name, ye ken; an' when a wummin's been mairrit for three-an'-twenty year--ay, it's a lang time! though I couldna wish a kinder or a better man than John--no--imphm; an' d'ye ken, we've seen some gey ups an' doons since I was mairrit. D'ye ken, I mind when the sugar was a shillin' the pund an' the loaf was eleven-pence--imphm; ay, bit that's no what I was tellin' ye though. What was't I was sayin', again? Ouay, aboot wee Johnnie Paterson. I'm sorry for the laddie, though he's a wild laddie tae. I'll tell ye hoo it happened: I was jist gaun awa' doon for a penny wuth o' soor milk tae the bairns an' John--for he's rale fond o' a drink o' 'soor dook,' as he ca's 't. He says he wudna gie a drink o' soor dook for a' yer beers; an' I'm share it's a great blessin', an' a hantle cheaper. There's Tam Wud's wife: I dinna ken hoo she manages to bring up her bairns, for Tam never gangs hame wi' his wages sober on a Setterday nicht; but I'm thinkin' the grocer kens, puir man! an' d'ye ken that's a thing I wudna like tae dae--no--imphm. Aweel, ay, bit that's no what I was gaun tae tell ye though. What was't again? Ou ay, aboot wee Johnnie Paterson, puir laddie! D'ye ken, I'm rale sorry for the laddie's mother tae. I'll tell ye hoo it happened: I was jist gaun awa' doon for the penny wuth o' soor milk, as I was sayin', tae Mrs. White, puir body! for d'ye ken, I aye like tae get my milk fae Mrs. White, for she deserves great credit for the way she's brocht up her family since her man was killed, seven year since, an' left her wi' five sma' bairns. Puir Tam White! he was comin' hame yae day wi' a cairt o' gress for the kye, an' disn't yin o' the wheels come aff, an' here was Tam landit on the croon o' his heid on a stane, an' he was fund lyin' deid--through pure laziness--ay, for if he hadna been sittin' on a loadened cairt he couldna a' been cowpit aff, ye ken. Aweel, ay, bit that's no what I was gaun to tell ye though. What was't I was--ou ay--aboot wee Johnnie Paterson. I'll tell ye hoo it happened: here am n't I gaun awa' doon for the pennywuth o' soor milk, as I was sayin', an' I had my wee bit bairn wi' me, an' it began tae whine an' greet, an' I couldna think what was wrang wi't, for it's a guid bairn for usual; an' when I lookit at the shawl that's roond it, isn't here a preen stickin' in't, and ye couldna expec' the bit bairn tae be guid, an' me makin'a preen-cushion o't. Ay! it's as guid a bairn's ever I had, an' I've had five; but three o' them's deid. Yin deid wi' its teeth, an' yin deid wi' its inside, an' yin deid wi' its granny, but it's a rale healthy place this though; they tell me it's eleven hunder feet aboon the level o' the sea. But I'm thinkin' that's jist a kind o' guess wark, for there's nae sea here tae measure fae; ay, ye'll find it a quiet place this, but d'ye ken it's naething tae the shepherd's hoose up the water; they're seven miles fae onybody, an' their wee bit lassie--a bairn twa year an' a half auld--she never had seen onybody in her life but her faither an' her mother, an' yae day there was a man gaun fishin' up the water, an' when she saw um she ran awa' into the hoose an' cries, 'Mother! there's something comin' up the water the same shape's my faither.' Ay, ye'll find it an aufu' difference fae Edinburgh. I never was in Edinburgh but yince. Me an' John--that's my man, ye ken--gaed awa' in tae see oor auldest laddie Johnnie, a sojer up at the Castle yonder; an' when we gaed awa' up, here he's walkin' up an' doon at the front door, an' I says, 'What are ye walkin' aboot there for, Johnnie? Wull they no let ye in?'"
"'Let me in! wummin; I'm walkin' here for a century.'"
"So John--that's my man, ye ken--he says, 'Are ye no comin' doon tae the Lawnmarket for a refreshment?'"
"'Mun,' says he, 'I canna leave my post.'"
"'Ta, gie that laddie a penny tae haud yer gun.'"
"Aweel, we gaed awa' doon tae the Lawnmarket, an' d'ye ken there was the awfu'est row ever ye heard tell o' when we gaed back, for leavin' the Castle in chairge o' a wee laddie. Ay, bit that's no what I was gaun tae tell ye though. What was't I was sayin', again? Ouay, aboot wee Johnnie Paterson. I'll tell ye hoo it happened. I was gaun awa' doon for the pennywuth o' soor milk, as I was sayin', an' jist as I was gaun roond by the back o' the auld quarry--d'ye ken, I aye said they should pit a palin' roond that place--here's a' the bairns comin' up greetin,' an'--is that a gig comin' up the road? That'll be the doctor's cairrage, I wager ye. I'll awa' doon an' see what he says is wrang wi' um."
And that is all I ever heard about the "fearful accident."
BOYS
'Boys will be boys'; it is a great pity, but it is an evil we have to face. There is a great difference between the boys of last generation and the present,--not in favour of the latter. They have all the faults of their fathers, with new ones added. It is rather hard on the men of to-day, that when they were boys they were scarcely allowed to speak "in company," and now they never get a chance if there is a boy present.
With the improvement in education, the boy of to-day knows all about everything, and he is eager to make his elders as wise as himself. I have just had a week's experience with one of these walking encyclopædias, and my head is a jumble of statistics, chemistry, and general information, imparted from my nephew, who has been living with us. The first night he came I thought I would interest him by developing some photographs taken on a cycling tour. It did not strike me at the time that being a boy of to-day he knew everything, and I had at once to change the role of instructor for that of pupil. I was just about to start explanations of the process, when he said, "Yes, I know; Franky Scott in our class takes photographs; do you prepare your own plates?" "No," I said, "I buy them." "Oh! you could make them cheaper; I'll tell you how it is done. Nitrate of silver and bromide of potassium throw a white precipitate on the plate; the nitrate, being sensitive to light, receives a black impression of anything thrown on it; and if you want to know any more about it, I'll write to _The Boys Own Paper_." To preserve my dignity I had to pretend that I knew all about it, but hadn't time to prepare plates. I am sure, however, that before the week was over he saw through me, and felt that if he only had me under his care for a month or two he could make something of me.
Two ladies, who had come from Ayr to see the Exhibition, called on us, and in the course of conversation one asked when we were going to visit them at Ayr. But before I could reply the "encyclopedia" said, "Ayr, on the river of that name, celebrated in connection with the----"
"Hold your tongue," I broke in; but I heard him mumbling, "Poet Burns; population 24,000."
When they spoke of going to the Forth Bridge he set off again. "Its greatest span is 1710 feet, height above water 361 feet, while its total length is 2766½ yards."
He seemed delighted when it was arranged that he should go to the Exhibition with the ladies; and so was I, as I was not going. No doubt he was thinking of the amount of information he could give them, acting as guide; but he was rather crestfallen when he came home and told me that he stupidly, at their request, took them to the Women's Section, and could not get them out. He wanted to explain dynamos to them.
I remember when I was his age my ambition was to be an engine-driver, but he says he would like to be a professor of chemistry.
I think teachers nowadays make a mistake in adding logic to their subjects for study; there is more than enough of it inherent in boys. One night his mother was telling him how bad he had been, and asked if he would try to be good. Of course he promised.
"Well, will you begin to-morrow?"
"Oh! that's awfully soon," he said.
Ages may come and go, but boys will remain the same as far as anything bad is concerned. Give a boy an apple, and he will not enjoy it to the full till he finds another boy beside whom he can eat it, the other boy's envy bringing out its full flavour.
[Illustration: "DROPPING A COPPER INTO THE DISH OF A BLIND MAN" _By Henry W. Kerr, R.S.A._]
The other day I was going to Glasgow; and having no desire to go via Queensferry on the North British line, I went to the Caledonian Station. As I had a few minutes to spare, I was looking through the railings to the Lothian Road, when my attention was drawn to a boy dropping a copper into the tin dish of a blind man who was reading the Bible. The reading suddenly stopped; but before the man could put his hand in the dish the penny was quietly withdrawn, dangling at the end of a string. The operation was repeated, and the third trial convinced the man that he was being "sold." "There he's coming again!" said the boy. The man grasped a heavy stick, and just as a minister was passing he received a firm broad cut across the middle of his vest. As soon as he recovered he looked about for a policeman to give the man in charge, but I hurried down and explained to him. I may have been mistaken, but I thought I recognised him from a sketch I had seen as one who had taken a prominent part in the Queen's Park Demonstration, and I strangely seemed to forgive the boy, who however had not waited for pardon.
My nephew was not long in the house till he had examined everything, and among other things he fished out an old album with a musical box attached. I had put it aside some years ago as broken. "Put it out of the way," I said, "it's useless." But this only added to his curiosity: he took it to another room, and soon brought it back, playing at a furious rate, as if glad at being released, and anxious to make up for lost time. I hate musical boxes. One never knows what they are playing, and, like boys, they seem anxious to exhibit all they know. An explanation of what had been wrong was given to me in a tone which showed my informant saw that mechanics was another thing I knew little of. The disconnecting action of the swivel had--something or another, I forget what; but all that was required was--something else. I said I had never bothered about it, which was quite true; but I am sure he felt I could not have mended it if I had tried.
The pace of the tunes gradually got slower, and what at first seemed to be a hornpipe was now like a dead march. Then it seemed to be going to sleep, and a note only came out now and then, and it slept, but not for long; he had found that the key of the dining-room clock fitted it, and he wound it up again.
"Oh! take it away," I said; and he went off to the next room, but no doors could keep out the sound.
A happy thought occurred to me: I would give him a pistol to keep him quiet. (When I was a boy I was the envy of all my companions, being the possessor of a shilling muzzle-loader. But here was a breech-loading Tranter: how much greater would be his delight!) I called him and said, "There's a pistol and a box of cartridges; go out to the garden and see if you can shoot a crow." I expected he would receive it with delight, but he looked at it with the air of a connoisseur and said, "Franky Scott has a pin-fire." I explained that this was a later and better invention, and he seemed pleased that he would be able to "take the bounce" out of Franky Scott when he saw him. He seemed to be having good sport, judging by the number of shots he was firing, and it was not much of an improvement on the musical box. When he came in to dinner he said it was a "stunner." He did not shoot well at first, but after a little he could strike the label on a box, and some of the bullets went right through.
A horrible suspicion came across me, and I rushed to the back garden, hoping I was wrong; but I wasn't. (One day, in going through the Exhibition, I was induced to taste a celebrated blend of whisky. I had praised it, of course, and could not go away without ordering a case, and it was taken outside to be unpacked.) I got a hammer and chisel, and injured several fingers in my hurry to see the extent of the damage. The man had told me there was not a headache in the case; and he was right,--there was a little in the bottom of one or two bottles.
Of course the boy was sorry, but not for long. "Talking of whisky," he said, "d'ye know there's four times more alcohol in absinthe? Sulphate of iron is mixed with it, and that's what gives it the semi-opaque look when mixed with water."
The ladies were at dinner with us, and one was praising the chutney. "That's the real Indian stuff," she said. "Mrs. Hood, a friend of ours, tried to make it, but it was a failure."
Of course the boy knew all about it. "I know how it would be: she would use apples instead of the Indian mangel, and it would be too sweet."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Because Franky Scott--that's a boy in our class----"
"That'll do."
"Well, his father----"
"Now, hold your tongue"; and I was pleased to think that Franky Scott would have the pride taken out of him about that pistol.
After all, I daresay my nephew is good enough as boys go. But then, look how boys go!
AN AMATEUR COOK
I wonder if any man is as clever as he imagines himself. I know I have not the confidence in myself I had a month ago as an amateur cook. I think it was my friend Davidson who first put the idea in my head to try my hand at cooking. The way he would describe the cooking of steaks on his yacht would make any one's mouth water, and it seemed to be always steaks they had. I asked him how he learned to cook, and he gave me the secret in one lesson. He said, "You just use plenty butter; that's how women can't cook properly: they grudge butter." It is five or six years since he first told me about his wonderful powers as a cook, and every time he has repeated his achievements--which has not been seldom--I have longed for an opportunity to distinguish myself, possessed as I was with the key to cooking. Davidson always got quite enthusiastic on this subject. He would say, "Man, when it was my turn, the fellows could hardly be kept on deck after the onions began to brown and the smell went up; and the doctor used to stand with a big rolling-pin to keep Jamie and the rest of them back, and every minute they would be crying down that it would do fine."
I don't know anything about yachting, and any time I have been over two hours at sea I had no taste for food. I always had more than I wanted. I remember going to Dublin, and at breakfast a tureen of ham and eggs was placed beside me, but by the time I had helped the company I had to go on deck and admire the prospect. An idea occurred to me, however, to get some companions to join me on a holiday with a caravan. "I would attend to the cooking," I said; but I never got any one to agree. I believe now if I had promoted each one to the office of cook I would have been successful, for I think every man--who has not tried it--is sure he is a born cook.
"Everything comes to him who waits"; and I got an opportunity to try my skill last month.
It came about in this way: we had taken a house in the country for August; and as the date approached, I found that business would prevent me from getting away for about a week. "But that need not prevent you and the girls from going," I said to my wife. "There's no use of having the house empty."
"But what will you do for food?" she said.
"Oh! I can easily make my breakfast, and I can dine at the club if necessary."
After some talking, I got them persuaded to leave me.
"Well," said my wife, "I must tell you where the things are. The tea is in a japanned box on the kitchen dresser. You put in a teaspoonful for yourself and a spoonful to the teapot." I wondered why the teapot should have equal shares with me, but said nothing, as Davidson had not said anything about tea.
"There's cold meat in the pantry, and some tongue and sausages, and I'll leave word at the dairy about the cream. Oh! and the coffee is in a tin on the top of the kitchen fireplace; put in two tablespoonfuls, and boil a breakfast-cup of milk. You'll get clean underclothing in the second drawer of the wardrobe, and shirts in the drawer above, and the collars in the middle drawer of the dressing-table."
There were several more injunctions thrown away on me, for my mind was on the cooking of a steak, and I fancied I could smell fried onions.
When I came home the first night I tried to persuade myself that I rather liked the hollow, echoing sound of my footsteps in the lobby. The house had a dismal appearance; the furniture was rolled up in sheets. However, I had the consolation of being able to smoke in rooms hitherto prohibited. I could not hurt the curtains,--they were down; and I could not expectorate on the carpet,--it was up; but I could put my feet on the mantelpiece,--it was left: so were the marks of my boots. I tried to read, but the stillness of the house was oppressive, so I went to the club to get some one to speak to.
When I returned, the house seemed more deserted than before. I wasn't afraid to sleep in the house by myself, but, just for the fun of the thing, I looked under the beds, but there was no one there, as of course I knew.