"Bide back," he said, "Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult
your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under
muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may
pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and,
besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway,
that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne,
and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me,
sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther
with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara
deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour."
And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel,
he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore,
visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either
by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the
glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last
action.
"I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the
wharf," he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, "for
a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest
citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt
eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I
wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the
use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots
thieves!"
"It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest," replied his adversary, not
perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a
pacific debate; "and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have
married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-
headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister
Christie.
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