"Onything below the belt," proceeded Bandy. "Give him your votes,
gentlemen. I can recommend him. Sandy--I mean Mester Bowden, will
stick to his post like Cassybeeanka, or whatever they ca'd the billie
that was brunt at the battle o' the Nile. He'll no' be like some o'
them that, like Ralph the Rover,

Sailed away,
An' scoored the sea for mony a day.

Gentlemen, let everywan here do his very best to get every elektor to
vote for Sandy, Mester Bowden, the pop'lar candidate. Up wi' him to
the tap o' the poll!"

Bandy cam' doon wi' his tackety buit on the boddom o' the butter kit,
an' in it gaed, an' him wi't, an' there he was, clappin' his hands, an'
stanin' juist like's he'd on a wid crinoline. You never heard sic a
roostin' an' roarin' an' hear-hearin' an' hurrain'! I had to shut my
een for fear o' bein' knokit deaf a'thegither. Stumpie Mertin jumpit
up as spruce as gin he had baith his legs, instead o' only ane, an'
forgettin' whaur he was, he glowered a' roond the wa' an' says,
"Whaur's the bell, lads?"

It was Sandy's turn noo; an' efter Dauvid Kenawee, auld Geordie Steel,
an' Moses Certricht had gotten the chairman pu'd oot o' the butter kit,
an' on to the boiler-heid again, Sandy raise ooten his seat wi' a look
on his face like a nicht watchman. They a' swang their airms roond
their heids, an' hurraed like onything, an' Sandy took lang breaths,
an' lookit roond him as gin he was feard some o' them wud tak' him a
peelik i' the lug.

When they quieted doon, Sandy gae a host, an' Watty Finlay said, "Hear,
hear."

"Fella elektors," said Sandy, "let me thank you for your cordial
reception."

Sandy had haen that ready aforehand, for he said her aff juist like
"Man's Chief End." Syne he lifted his fit an' put it on the edge o'
the sofa. He rested his elba on his knee, an' his chin on his hand,
an' lookit quite at hame, like's he'd been accustomed addressin'
meetin's a' his born days.

"I think oor worthy chairman spoke ower high aboot my abeelity," said
Sandy; "but as far as lies in my pooer, I will never budge from my
post, but stand firm." At this point, Sandy's fit slippit aff the edge
o' the sofa, an' he cam' stoit doon an' gae Moses Certricht a daud i'
the lug wi' the croon o' his heid, that sent Moses' heid rap up again'
Dauvid Kenawee's.

"What i' the world are ye heavin' aboot that heid o' yours like that
for?" said Dauvid, glowerin' like a wild cat at Moses: an' Bandy kickit