Part 7 (1/2)
Indigo and the piper entered from opposite doors at about the same time, the former fetching the ”whey,” which had a suspiciously reddish hue and was served in narrow bottles, the latter arrayed in all the bravery of his plaids, with a little boy by his side in similar costume.
”Hit her up, Sawnie,” cried Kennedy.
”Let him wet his whistle first,” said the Sunburst.
”And here's a handsel to cross his palm,” added Harry, pa.s.sing the piper something invisible. The minstrel pocketed it with an awkward bow and drank down the proffered ”whey” at one gulp.
”I'll be reminding you, gentlemen,” he said in ”braid Scots,” ”lest ye labor under a misapprehension of my cognomen, that my name is not Sawnie, but Duncan McKenzie Logan, and this is my wee bairn, Archibald Campbell of that ilk. We're half-lowland, as ye doubtless know, the Logans being a border clan.”
”Why don't you make the youngster blow the bellows?” cried Idler. ”The organ-player never does the pumping.”
”I'm no organ-player, if you please. 'Tis the hieland pipes I play, and there's no blowing the bellows except with my ain mouth. But the laddie dances prettily. Show your steps, Archie. Show the gentlemen a fling. Ainblins they've never seen the like of it before.”
Archie was as highland as his father in rig, from his jaunty feathered bonnet to the kilt just reaching below his bare, brown knees. His firm boyish face had a Scotch prettiness in it, nothing effeminate, yet sweet to look at, and he went through the steps of the highland fling gracefully, one hand on hip, the other over his head, reversing them now and then, and occasionally spinning around, while the piper struck up ”Roy's Wife.” The conclusion was greeted with a burst of applause.
”Can't we dance to that tune, boys?” shouted Harry, seizing Kennedy around the waist. ”Choose your partners. Give us a Tarantella.”
”There's nae such tune in the hielands,” said the piper, gravely.
”Well, the skirt dance will do. Hit her up and I'll make you a present big enough to buy all your aunts and cousins porridge for a fortnight.”
”There's nae skeert dance known to my pipes,” said the highlander, shaking his head. ”Dinna ye mean the sword dance?”
”Try 'Highland Laddie',” suggested Idler, hitting up a lively jig on the piano. The piper fell in and soon was pacing up and down the room, red in the face from his exertions, while the four merrymakers capered, kicked and skipped, with all sorts of offhand juvenilities. Harry, though the tallest present, was graceful as a girl.
”Hold up, fellows,” cried the Sunburst, at last, puffing audibly. But the piper continued pacing up and down, forgetting everything in the furore of his enthusiasm except the moaning and shrieking of his instrument.
”Hold up, I say. Shut off your infernal drone. We can't hear ourselves think.”
”'Tis the wind wailing on Craig-Ellachie I hear,” said he of the Caledonian names.
”I think it's delirium tremens. Take a nip of the whey. That'll cure you. Here, Indigo, tap the geyser again for Sawnie.”
Logan was not the man to set up frivolous punctilios against such an order as Idler's.
”There's medicine for the inner mon,” he said, smacking his lips with gusto.
”Medicinal, eh? If you happen to take an overdose it's a medicinal spree, I suppose.”
”I say, isn't tomorrow the Fourth?” cried Sunburst. ”Play something patriotic, Sawnie, 'Hull's Victory,' or 'Lady Was.h.i.+ngton's Reel.'”
”There's nane o' them known to me or my instrument,” said the minstrel. ”It's a Scotch pipe and will play nane but the auld tunes of Scotland.”
”Scotland! What's Scotland?” asked Idler.
”Wha--can it be ye never heard tell o' bonnie Scotland?” gasped the highlander, who was nearing the condition which Idler had described as a ”medicinal spree.”
”What is it, a man or a place? Did you ever meet the name before, fellows?”
All three solemnly shook their heads, whereat the Caledonian's jaw dropped in amazement.
”Wull, wull, I knew 'twas a most barbarous country I entered, but I'd thought the least enlightened peoples of the airth had heard of the glory and the celebrity of bonnie Scotland.”
”Bonnie Scotland? Is Bonnie his first name?”
”Why, 'tis the country o' Scotland, I mean.”
”Oh, I know,” interposed Harry; ”that little, barren, outlying province somewhere to the north of England.”
”Oh, that!” cried the others, in contemptuous chorus.
”Where the coast line gets ragged, like an old beggar's coat,” said Idler.
”And the people live on haggis and finnan haddie,” added Kennedy.
”They are mostly exiles of Erin that have drifted back into barbarism,” cried the Sunburst.
”Yes, that's the place,” said Harry. ”I've heard travelers tell of it. I believe it's put down in the latest gazetteer.”
Poor Logan looked like a stifling man, but before he could launch his reply the long-drawn tones of a rival troubadour invaded the apartment. Once more the four roysterers rushed to the window.
”It's a dago!”
”Ahoy!” they signaled, waving their hands.
”Open the door for him, Indigo,” cried Harry.
”Did you ever hear tell o' such savages, Archie?” whispered the piper to his son; ”that had no enlightenment on the name o' bonnie Scotland, which is famous wherever valor and minstrelsy are honored.”
”They maun be jestin', daddy.”
”Jestin'? Tut, tut! Whaur's the jest?”
”Pres...o...b..llisimo, Paganini,” cried the four youths, each rus.h.i.+ng to the door and welcoming the organ-grinder, with a warm shake-hands. The Italian smiled profusely and doffed his cap, his monkey climbing to the organ top and imitating him in every gesture.
”Tune up your bagpipes, Sawnie,” cried Harry. ”We are going to have a tournament. Take a smell, Paganini?”
”Noa,” answered the Italian, shaking his head, ”noa drink--a.”
”Then you're a bigger fool than you look,” cried Idler, stumbling tipsily. ”(Hic) I'm losing control of my curves.”
”What tunes have you got in that box?” asked Harry of the organ-grinder, while Logan eyed him grimly with a look of scorn.
”What-a sing-a? 'Anni Runi.'”
”That will do. Grind away. Hold on. Get a full breath, Sawnie. Now for a medley.”