andy, efter he'd
gotten a breath. "This is ane o' the famous meal mobs. You see the
crood o' men, sae, they're a' roarin' thegither. There's neen o' you
loons 'ill mind o' the meal mobs," said Sandy, "but I mind o' them
fine. A gey toon it was i' thae days. You'll notice the auld
Toon-Clark i' the middle there, wi' his hands up, threatenin' to send
for the pileece, an' a' the crood yalpin' at him like as mony dogs. I
can tell you loons, ye may thank your stars that you wasna born when
wey-o'-doin's like that was carried on i' the toon. You dinna ken
naethin' aboot it. There's been naethin' like it i' the toon o'
Arbroath sin'----"

"Hold on, Sandy," roared Nathan; "that's the wrang picture you have in
again; here's the meal mob here. Look an' see what's on that ane."

"A Presbitree Meetin'!" read oot Sandy; an' you wudda thocht the Smith
an' Bandy Wobster were genna ding doon the hoose wi' their noise an'
roarin' an' lauchin'.

"I thocht they were gey black-lookin' gentry for a meal mob," says the
Smith; an' Bandy nodded his heid an' leuch, an' says, "Man, Sandy's a
perfeck genius as fac's ocht, I hinna heard onything like him."

I hinna time to tell you aboot a' the rest o' the exhibition. It was a
treat in mair weys than ane. Sandy lut's see a lot o' notables like
Mester Gladstone, an' Blind Hewie, an' Steeple Jeck, an' the Prince o'
Wales, an' Burke an' Hair, an' the Jook o' Argile, an' Dykin Elshinder.
But the crooner o' them a' cam' when Sandy says--"Noo, here's
Snakimupo, the famous king o' the Cannibal Islands, an' his favourite
squaw, that eats missionaries, an' Bibles, an' poopits whenever they
can get a haud o' them"--an' in he shot--wha d'ye think? Juist Sandy
an' me oorsels, life-size--ay, an' bigger!

"O, golly midgins!" says ane o' Dauvid's lassies, wi' her hands up, an'
her moo an' her een wide open.

You never heard sic a riffin' as there was, the laddies a' roarin' "The
King o' the Cannibal Islands," an' Sandy wirrin' like a perfeck terrier.

"That's some o' Robbie Boath's wark," he says in laich till himsel',
wi' an awfu' girn on his face. "He gae me that picture special, an
tell'd me the name o't, an' said to feenish wi't. But gin he disna get
a stane o' diseased pitatties frae me the morn that'll mak' him onweel
for a i'ortnicht, my name's no Si Bowden." Syne he added heich oot,
"Noo, loons and lassockies, that's a'. It's aboot time you was
toddlin' awa' hame noo; an' I howp y