"You are thinking now of Auld
Reekie, as my father fondly calls your good Scottish capital, where
there is such bandying of private feuds and public factions, that a
man of any note shall not cross your High Street twice, without
endangering his life thrice. Here, sir, no brawling in the street is
permitted. Your bull-headed citizen takes up the case so soon as the
sword is drawn, and clubs is the word."
"And a hard word it is," said Richie, "as my brain-pan kens at this
blessed moment."
"Were I your master, sirrah," said Lord Dalgarno, "I would make your
brain-pan, as you call it, boil over, were you to speak a word in my
presence before you were spoken to."
Richie murmured some indistinct answer, but took the hint, and ranked
himself behind his master along with Lutin, who failed not to expose
his new companion to the ridicule of the passers-by, by mimicking, as
often as he could do so unobserved by Richie, his stiff and upright
stalking gait and discontented physiognomy.
"And tell me now, my dear Malcolm," said Nigel, "where we are bending
our course, and whether we shall dine at an apartment of yours?"
"An apartment of mine--yes, surely," answered Lord Dalgarno, "you
shall dine at an apartment of mine, and an apartment of yours, and of
twenty gallants besides; and where the board shall present better
cheer, better wine, and better attendance, than if our whole united
exhibitions went to maintain it.
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