fell while's crackin', Bandy startit to speak aboot
mismirizin' an' phrenology, an' that kind o' thing. Bandy tell'd aboot
some o' his exploits mismirizin' sailors, an' took on to show aff his
po'ers on Sandy. Sandy was quite open to lat him try his hand; so
Bandy says, "Has ony o' you lads a twa-shilliny bit?"

There was a gude deal o' hostin' an' heid-clawin' at this question,
ilka lad lookin' at his neeper as muckle as to say, "I've naething but
half-soverins i' the noo."

"I can gi'e ye fowerpence o' coppers, if that's ony use to ye," said
Stumpie Mertin, shuvin' his airm up to the elba in his breeks pooch.

There was a burst o' lauchin' at this, an' Sandy says, pointin' wi' his
thoom ower his shuder, "Less noise, you lads, for fear her nabs hears
us." He little thocht that her nabs--that was me, of coorse--was at
the winda hearin' every wird. Thinks I, my carlie, her nabs 'ill lat
you hear something the nicht that'll garr the lugs o' ye dirl.

There wasna a twa-shilliny bit to be gotten, so Bandy had to tak' the
lid o' a sweetie-bottle an' mak' the best o't.

"Noo, Sandy," says he, "juist grip that gey firm atween your finger an'
your thoom, an' stare at it as hard's ye can. Nae winkin' or lookin'
aboot; an', you lads, be quiet. Noo, lat's see ye!"

Sandy took the bottle lid, an' sat doon wi't in's hand, an' stared at
it like's he was lookin' doon intil a draw-wall. A' the billies sat
roond starin' at Sandy, an' Bandy maleengered aboot, playin' capers wi'
his airms, an' dancin' like some daft man. Ye cudda tied the lot o'
them wi' a string, they were that taen up wi' Bandy's capers. He gaed
forrit efter a while an' pettin' his thooms on Sandy's heid, he says,
in a coalman's kind o' a voice, "Sleep, sleep."

"He's awa' wi't," says Bandy, turnin' roond to the rest o' them. They
were sittin' wi' their moos wide open, an' a great deal mair mismirized
than Sandy, I thocht.

Bandy grippit Sandy by the shuders an' heized him up on his feet; an'
there he stuid, wi' his een shut' an' his airms an' legs hingin' like's
he was dreepin' o' water. Bandy shot up his heid an opened his een wi'
his fingers, an' there was Sandy juist like Dominy Sampson i' the
museum.

"Noo," says Bandy, "we'll touch his lauchin' bump"; an' he gae Sandy a
stob aboot the heid wi' his finger, an' Sandy set to the lauchin', ye
never heard the like.

"Stop him, Bandy," says Stumpie Mertin, gey excited, "or he'll lauch
his hendere