Part 15 (2/2)
And with this, pulling his hat down over his forehead viciously, he turned and sped swiftly across the way. The nurse gazed anxiously after him, and in her secret soul wondered if she would not better send for Jamie McQueen, the town constable. Poor Tammas's eye was really so glaring, and his whole manner so manifestly that of a man exasperated to the verge of madness, that she considered him somewhat in the light of a menace to the public safety. She was not at all rea.s.sured, either, when Tammas, having reached the other side of the street, began gesticulating wildly, shaking his ”faithfu' steck” at the facade of the confronting flat-house. But an immediate realization of the condition of the sick man above led her to forego the attempt to protect the public safety, and closing the door softly to, she climbed the weary stairs to the sixth floor, and soon forgot the disturbing trial of the morning in reading to her patient certain inspiring chapters from the Badminton edition of _Haggert's Chase of Heretics_, relieved with the lighter _Rules of Golf; or, Auld Putt Idylls_, by the Rev. Ian McCrockett, one of the most exquisitely confusing humorous works ever published in the Highlands.
Lang Tammas meanwhile was addressing an invisible somebody in the building over the way, and in no uncertain tones.
”If I were not a geentlemon and a humorist,” he said, impressively, agitating his stick nervously at the building front, ”I could say much that nae Scut may say. But were I nae Scut, I'd say this to ye: 'Ye have all the eelements of a confairmed heeritic. Ye've nae sense of deecint fun. Ye're not a man for a' that, as most men air--ye're an a.s.s, plain and simple, wi' naether the plainness nor the simpleecity o' the individual that Balaam rode. Further--more--'”
What Lang Tammas would have said furthermore had he not been a Scot the world will never know, for from the other side of the street--farther along, however--came the squawking voice again:
”Gang awa', gang awa', ye crittur, ye cow! Hoot mon--hoot mon--hoot mon!
Gang awa', gang awa'!” And this was followed by a raucous cry, which might or might not have been Scottish, but which was, in any event, distinctly maddening. And even as the previous insults had electrified poor Tammas, so this last petrified him, and he stood for an appreciable length of time absolutely transfixed. His mind was a curious study. His coming had been prompted entirely by the genial spirit which throbbed beneath his stony Scottish exterior. For a long time he had been a resident of the most conspicuous Scotch town in all literature, and he was himself its accepted humorist. Then on a sudden Thrums had a rival. Drumtochty sprang forth, and in the matter of pathos, if not humor, ran Thrums hard; and Lang Tammas, attracted to Drumsheugh, had come this distance merely to pay his respects, and to see what manner of man the real Drumsheugh was.
[Ill.u.s.tration: TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHAUGH]
And this was his reception! To be laughed at--he, a Scotch humorist! Had any one ever laughed at a Scotch humorist before? Never. Was not the test of humor in Scotland the failure to laugh of the hearer of the jest? Would Scotch humor ever prove great if not taken seriously? Oh, aye! Hendry never laughed at his jokes, and Hendry knew a joke when he saw one. McTaggart never smiled at Lang Tammas; and as for the little Minister--he knew what was due to the humorist of Thrums, as well as to himself, and enjoyed the exquisite humor of Tammas with a reserve well qualified to please the Presbytery and the Congregation.
How long Lang Tammas would have stood petrified no man may say; but just then who should come along but the person he had come to call upon--Drumsheugh himself.
”_Knox et praeterea nihil!_” he exclaimed. ”What in Glasgie hae we here?”
Lang Tammas turned upon him.
”Ye hae nowt in Glasgie here,” he said, sternly. ”Ye hae a vairy muckle pit-oot veesitor, wha hae coom on an airand o' good-will to be gret wi'
eensoolts.”
”Eensoolts?” retorted Drumsheugh. ”Eensoolts, ye say? An' wha hae bin eensooltin' ye?”
”That I know nowt of, save that he be a doonricht foo' a-heepin' his deealect upon me head,” said Lang Tammas.
”And wha are ye to be so seensitive o' deealect?” demanded Drumsheugh.
”My name is Lang Tammas--”
”O' Thrums?” cried Drumsheugh.
”Nane ither,” said Tammas.
Drumsheugh burst into an uproarious fit of laughter.
”The humorist?” he cried, catching his sides.
”Nane ither,” said Tammas, gravely. ”And wha are ye?”
”Me? Oh, I'm--Drumsheugh o' Drumtochty,” he replied. ”Come along hame wi' me. I'll gie ye that to make the eensoolt seem a compliment.”
And the two old men walked off together.
An hour later, on their way to the kirk, Drumsheugh observed that after the service was over he would go with Lang Tammas and seek out the man who had insulted him and ”gie” him a drubbing, which invitation Tammas was nothing loath to accept. Reverently the two new-made friends walked into the kirk and sat themselves down on the side aisle. A hymn was sung, and the minister was about to read from the book, when the silence of the church was broken by a shrill voice:
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