his heels on the front o' the boiler, an' roared, "Order, gentlemen.
Respeck the chair!"

I was juist away to cry--"Ye micht respeck my boiler, raither, an' no'
kick holes i' the plester wi' thae muckle clunkers o' heels o' yours";
but I keepit it in.

Sandy got himsel' steadied up again, an' pulled doon his weyscot, syne
gae his moo a dicht, an' buttoned his coat. I cud see fine that he was
tryin' to keep up the English; but it wasna good enough. "I am no' a
man o' learnin'," said Sandy. "I'm a wirkin' man, an' if I tak' up my
heid wi' publik affairs, it's 'cause I've naething else ado, and it'll
keep me oot o' langer. As oor respeckit chairman says, I'm no' like
Ralph the Rover, sailin' awa' an' scoorin' the sea for mony a day.
That looks like a pure weyst o' soap--juist like what goes on i' the
Toon Cooncil daily-day. You may lauch, freends, but it's ower true;
an' wha is't peys for't?"

"It's his! It's his, lads!" roared a' the billies i' the washin'-hoose.

"It is so," said Sandy. "Oor Toon Cooncil's juist like this Ralph the
Rover, gaen awa' scoorin' the sea for nae end--for the sea's no'
needin' scoorin'--when he michta been at hame helpin' his wife to ca'
the washin'-machine. It's usef'u' wark we want. Neen o' your Bailie
Thingymabob's capers, wi' his donkey engines, eksettera. Echt thoosand
pound for a noo kirkyaird! Did ye ever hear the like! What aboot the
grand view you get? A puckle o' thae Cooncillors crack as gin they
were genna pet bow-windas into a' the graves, to lat ye hae a grand
view efter you was buried. Blethers o' nonsense! That's juist what I
ca' scoorin' the sea like Ralph the Rover."

By faigs, lads, Sandy garred me winder gin this time. Ye never heard
hoo he laid it into them, steekin' his nivs an' layin' aboot him wi'
his airms.

"Echt thoosand pound!" he roars again. "That's seven shillin's the
heid--man, woman, and bairn i' the toon o' Arbroath. What d'ye think
o' that? But that's no' a'. There's the toon's midden, too; that's
needin' a look intil."

"Hear, hear," put in Watty as uswal; an' Bandy added, "It has muckle
need, as my nose can tell ye."

"What d'ye think o' a midden i' the very middle o' your toon?" Sandy
gaed on. "I paws for an answer," he said in a gravedigger's kind o' a
voice. He crossed his legs ower ane anither, an' put ane o' his hands
in ablo the tails o' his coat; an', gettin' akinda aff his balance, he
gaed spung up again' Bandy Wobster