“Certainly,” was his answer; “that is exactly my meaning.  I trust I make myself plain, I’m willing to meet any man at catch-weights.  Now here, he continued,” are some of my samples.  This story about a house-boat, for instance, has been much appreciated.  It’s almost in the style of Mr. JEROME’S masterpiece; or this screamer about my wife’s tobacco-pipe and the smoking mixture.  “Observe,” he went on, holding the sample near to his mouth, “I can expand it to any extent.  Puff, puff!  Ah! it has burst.  No matter, these accidents sometimes happen to the best regulated humorists.  Now, just look at these,” he produced half-a-dozen packets rapidly from his bundle.  “Here we have a packet of sarcasm—­equal to dynamite.  I left it on the steps of the Savile Club, but it missed fire somehow.  Then here are some particularly neat things in cheques.  I use them myself to paper my bedroom.  It’s simpler and easier than cashing them, and besides,” adjusting his mouth to his sleeve, and laughing, “it’s quite killing when you come to think of it in that way.  Lastly, there’s this banking-account sample, thoroughly suitable for journalists and children.  You see how it’s done.  I open it, you draw on it.  Oh, you don’t want a drawing-master, any fellow can do it, and the point is it never varies.  Now,” he concluded, aggressively, “what have you got to set against that, my friend?”

We all looked at TAMMAS.  Hendry kicked the pail towards him, and he put his foot on it.  Thus we knew that HEHDRY had returned to his ancient allegiance, and that the stranger would be crushed.  Then TAMMAS began—­

“Man, man, there’s no nae doubt at ye lauoh at havers, an’ there’s mony ’at lauchs ’at your clipper-clapper, but they’re no Thrums fowk, and they canna’ lauch richt.  But we maun juist settle this matter.  When we’re ta’en up wi’ the makkin’ o’ humour, we’re a’ dependent on other fowk to tak’ note o’ the humour.  There’s no nane o’ us ’at’s lauched at anything you’ve telt us.  But they’ll lauch at me.  Noo then,” he roared out, “‘A pie sat on a pear-tree.’”

We all knew this song of TAMMAS’S.  A shout of laughter went up from the whole gathering.  The stranger fell backwards into the sty a senseless mass.

“Man, man,” said hookey to TAMMAS, as we walked home; “what a crittur ye are!  What pit that in your heed?”

“It juist took a grip o’ me,” replied TAMMAS, without moving a muscle; “it flashed upon me ’at he’d no stand that auld song.  That’s where the humour o’ it comes in.”

“Ou, ay,” added Hendry, “Thrums is the place for rale humour.”  On the whole, I agree with him.

* * * * *

Suggestive.—­My Musical Experiences, by Bettina Walker, will probably be followed by My Eye, by Bettina Martin.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  The young Spark and the old flame.]