As I said, we were all on the pig-sty.  Of the habitues I scarcely need to speak to you, since you must know their names, even if you fail to pronounce them.  But there was a stranger amongst us, a stranger who, it was said, had come from London.  Yesterday when I went ben the house I found him sitting with Jess; to-day, he too, was sitting with us on the pig-sty.  There were tales told about him, that he wrote for papers in London, and stuffed his vases and his pillows with money, but TAMMAS Haggart only shook his head at what he called “such auld fowks’ yeppins,” and evidently didn’t believe a single word.  Now TAMMAS, you must know, was our humorist.  It was not without difficulty that TAMMAS had attained to this position, and he was resolved to keep it.  Possibly he scented in the stranger a rival humorist whom he would have to crush.  At any rate, his greeting was not marked with the usual genial cordiality characteristic of Scotch weavers, and many were the anxious looks exchanged amongst us, as we watched the preparations for the impending conflict.

CHAPTER III.

After TAMMAS had finished boring half-a-dozen holes in the old sow with his sarcastic eye, he looked up, and addressed Hendry MCQUMPHA.

“Hendry,” he said, “ye ken I’m a humorist, div ye no?”

Hendry scratched the old sow meditatively, before he answered.

“Ou ay,” he said, at length.  “I’m no saying ’at ye’re no a humorist.  I ken fine ye’re a sarcesticist, but there’s other humorists in the world, am thinkin.”

This was scarcely what TAMMAS had expected.  Hendry was usually one of his most devoted admirers.  There was an awkward silence which made me feel uncomfortable.  I am only a poor Dominie, but some of my happiest hours had been passed on the pig-sty.  Were these merry meetings to come to an end?  Pete took up the talking.

“Hendry, my man,” he observed, as he helped himself out of TAMMAS’S snuff-mull, “ye’re ower kyow-owy.  Ye ken humour’s a thing ’at spouts out o’ its ain accord, an’ there’s no nae spouter in Thrums ’at can match wi’ TAMMAS.”

He looked defiantly at Hendry, who was engaged in searching for coppers in his north-east-by-east-trouser pocket.  T’NOWHEAD said nothing, and hookey was similarly occupied.  At last, the stranger spoke.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “may I say a word?  I may lay claim to some experience in the matter.  I travel in humour, and generally manage to do a large business.”

He looked round interrogatively.  TAMMAS eyed him with one of his keen glances.  Then he worked his mouth round and round to clear the course for a sarcasm.

“So you’re the puir crittur,” said the stone-breaker, “‘at’s meanin’ to be a humorist.”

This was the challenge.  We all knew what it meant, and fixed our eyes on the stranger.