Source: https://freesrc.weebly.com/the-market-3.html
Timestamp: 2019-04-23 02:56:55+00:00

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Leaving the Kirk on the Hill behind, today we walk on up Queen Street. Passing the Market Inn you come to Market Hill which was originally an open air animal market that was held on a piece of common land, surrounded by a dry stone dyke. In 1856 Thomas Wallet sold eight sheep and some Galloway cattle and thus cattle dealing in Galloway began. In 1860 Wallet’s Mart opened as a new venue for the Keltonhill Fair (previously at Rhonehouse) and it expanded considerably over Crockett’s lifetime. The market moved to its current site in 1888, so it’s not exactly as it would have been in Crockett’s youth, but when he wrote of it as ‘Mallets’ mart in his 1913 novel ‘Sandy’s Love’ it would have been largely as it is today. The Wallets also owned the Crown Hotel on King Street.
Monday is a great and high day in Cairn Edward. There are often ten thousand folk within the bounds of the little town that day, and up at market hill, I cannot tell how many thousands of lambs, sheep, bullocks and other quadrupeds are sold by public auction. Mallet and Sons are the great auctioneers, and they have four or five marts all in full swing at the same time. Irish drovers, Wigtownshire lairds, with Lords of Session, pig-dealers, herds and belted earls in one strange medley. The mass general is scented with an unforgettable odour of tar and sheep-dip. Rough spun cloth is common to all, generally of a light yellowish brown hue, dyed with corklit from the rocks dissolved in a yet simpler product.
There are many Apothecaries' Halls in Cairn Edward, each with its perfumery department, and all are fully patronized. And no wonder, for the odour of a Market-Monday throng in summer is something not to be forgotten.
Still the sight is a great one—the roads are black with all manner of vehicles, and as for the market hill, it is a packed wonderland through which flocks of sheep meander, and frightened bullocks may charge at any minute. Down in the corner where two walls meet, there is the noise of an Irish row. Up near the ring is a proper set-to between a buyer from Preston on the West, and a man from Newcastle on the East— Newcastle winning—but, being charged with unfairness, is immediately ground to powder by at least five hundred amateur umpires.
Then there are the great market ‘ordinaries’— from that of the ‘McGhie Arms,' which is the height of good cheer and of the fashion, descending through the ‘County’ and the ‘Imperial,’ to the ‘Widow's’ and the ‘Blue Bonnet,’ where a filling dinner of broth and boiled beef can be had at the simple and easy rate of sixpence a head.
Sandy was resolved that this Market Monday, the greatest and most wonderful sight in the three counties— perhaps of all Scotland—should be seen by V. V. and McComie. The girls showed no wild enthusiasm. To them one sheep was just as good as ten thousand. And the crowd and the dust would be disagreeable.
In short, the girls must go. They resigned themselves with no more than a look at one another, which told how much rather they would have remained quietly at home— V. V. in the orchard with Sandy, and McComie playing the chances of Palgrave's poetry in its gay hussar attire of blue and gold.
Still, for Sandy's sake there was no more to be said. The girls put on their quiet costumes of the day before with a bow or two added, and prepared to be shown off. For, of course, they understood well what was in Sandy’s mind. They and he were to drive down in the morning, stable the pony at the ‘McGhie Arms,’ see the wonders of the Auctions and the Hill, and thereafter dine at the market ordinary, where old Burberry would be on the look-out for the lass that had done the church collection out of a shilling the day before. Mrs. Pryde was so sure of this that she entrusted Sandy with the half-crown and the shilling to keep in his pocket as being better fitted to withstand the wiles of Burberry. Sandy was a man, brought up in the parish, and therefore knew what a treasurer of ‘life and Work’ was capable of. In Mrs. Pryde's opinion her husband's friend Habakkuk was a mere babe to Burberry.
Thus, on the whole merry-hearted because Sandy was so proud and so happy, the girls came to the great Monday Mart of Cairn Edward.
The great dining-hall of the ‘McGhie Arms’ could accommodate at its three parallel ‘Ordinaries’ something like two hundred and fifty people, while the smaller reserved tables near the open window or edged into corners could take fifty more. The frequenters were all bien and comfortable folk, lairds, farmers, and great dealers who did not mind one half-crown for the ordinary and (as like as not) another for drinks wherewith to wash it down.
Sandy had hurried off, during the first up-putting of the little four-wheeled dog-cart, and secured from the landlady one of the tables at the top end of the room. Of course, she would keep it for Mr. Pryde. It was not often that they had a chance of seeing Mr. Pryde among them. If he went upstairs he would see ‘Greying Gold’ lying on the top of the piano; that is, if it had not been lent out for the twentieth time— to people who could easily have afforded to buy a copy for themselves.
But opposite to Sandy's table was a larger one, having six or eight men about it. The host was a red-faced and bull-necked man whose noisy mirth was answered by prompt and sycophantic laughter. Sandy shot one irritated glance towards this opposing table which commanded his own. He knew the red-faced man for one Walkerburn, the all-powerful factor of the Balmaghie estates, said to be high in the good-will of my lord, and still higher in that of my lady — which, as it happened, mattered ever so much more.
A corner place at the table was still vacant, and though the dinner proceeded, the chair seemed to be waiting for somebody. Sandy hoped that it might be my lord himself, who at least would teach them how to behave. For already he had noticed significant noddings of the head and winkings of the eye toward V. V. and McComie, which did not indicate the usual reserve of Galloway hospitality. Not that Walkerburn was a Galloway man. He came of weaving stock and had long ago been apprenticed to a writer in Galashiels. He had had charge of the smaller Tweedside property of the McGhie family before coming to rule men and farms in Galloway.
At last the expected guest arrived, a big, foolish-looking, blond giant, who began to hold his sides at Walkerburn's jests long before he came within hearing distance— Andro Banks, a great horse-breeder and the richest man in all the district, so far, that is, as farmers were concerned.
He had already achieved a roll in his gait, as if he had wetted many bargains that day— which indeed was the fact. His cheek was flushed and his eyes wandered half dreamily from side to side.
But checking himself, he came to a stop before Sandy's table, and Sandy, expecting that he was on the point of speaking to one of his guests, wondered seriously if the man were sober enough to hit, and where would be the best place to begin upon him.
Suddenly, however, Andro Banks pointed at V. V. —then up at the wall above their heads, and burst into a rolling peal of laughter which aroused the whole great dining-room. Sandy was already on his feet, facing the man, but still gripping the back of the chair to steady his temper.
‘I am coming, V. V.!’ And the horse-dealer shouted with idiot mirth, his finger waggling back and forth from V. V. to the wall in a manner which seemed to amuse Factor Walkerburn and his cronies intensely. They shouted louder than ever— louder even than the tipsy man.
Sandy turned and faced them. He was pale with anger and the expression of his face was not good to meet. It was enough to have sent even Ben Meares down a side lane.
But as he turned upon them, his eyes fell on something stuck up between the windows above the unconscious head of V. V.
It was the famous Spangled Poster of The Boy and the Butterfly, formerly used at the old Kentham Vic, which he had first seen on the hoardings of Tenterden Road, nearly opposite to the Kentham Chapel. Beneath were the words, quoted by the tipsy horse-dealer, ‘I am coming, V. V.’ like the wash of waters after a sea-dive from a height, a kind of hissing silence surged and swished past Sandy’s ears. The windows were wide open, to give air to the great room so full of men. With one hand Sandy swept down the roughly pinned sheet, crushing it into a wad, and after rubbing the face of the great Andro with it, he took that suddenly sobered worthy by the collar and dropped him out upon the low sheck of the stable yard.
He was the least to blame. It remained to settle with those who had put the thing there as an insult to V. V. and himself.
The table opposite grew rather silent. Only Walkerburn continued to shout with laughter, and blatter on the table with his hand. Then Sandy had one of his dangerous intuitions, which often led him to the swiftest and most inconsiderate actions. He saw that one of Walkerburn's allies—perhaps that fellow Sykes, the soldier—no, on second thoughts a soldier would hardly have done such a thing—Eleanor or Lily Sykes more likely, somebody at The Lodge for a certainty, had thought this out and put it within the power of Walkerburn to execute it.
The factor must have made sure it would serve him with at least one of his employers—perhaps the one most powerful—even Lady Balmaghie herself.
As his manner was, Sandy did not stop to argue nor cast up pros and cons. He simply marched straight across to Walkerburn, lifted him bodily out of the chair on which he had been sitting, and with a heave sent him to join his companion on the stable roofing. Then he stood for a long, momentous second, defying the table with the two empty chairs. Menacing, terrible, he waited for a sign, one smile, a single grimace, but none was given him. Then he looked down the long ordinary, daring the whole innocent company with his eyes, his hands clenched and eager for work.
A white-haired, ruddy-faced man, a hale and hearty Lord of Session in a rough suit and burly, well-stockinged calves, came over and asked what it was all about.
Sandy, stammering in his white anger, indicated the poster and V. V.
‘She is my wife!’ he said hoarsely, no doubt anticipating things a little, but quite believing what he said and willing to back every word.
There was no dinner that day for Sandy and the girls at the ‘McGhie Arms.’ V. V. was very pale and quiet and McComie frankly frightened. Sandy paid his bill and ordered out the dog-cart, feeling it a relief to swear in the stable yard.
He saw there neither of his enemies, but he came upon my Lord Ardoch, peering about hopefully among the empty stalls and looking into stable doors as if in search of something.
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