AN INTERVIEW WITH AN EMPEROR.
hauteur. True, it was curled up at the corners, and rather soiled with tobacco ash, and, in place of my own august cognomen, it bore that of an enterprising washerwoman, who had sent it on board at our last port of call.
But it fixed our friend the enemy. He scratched his head, looked at it upside down then backside foremost, and finally pulled off his cap, stuck the card in the lining and replaced the cap on his head.
“Weel Gentlemen,” he said, “ I’ll jeest show ye aff the estate if ye’ll tell me whaur ye come frae, and what’s yer beesiness?”
“Well! come now my man,” I replied, “have a dram, and I’m sure we’re very sorry to have caused you any trouble.”
With that I again brought forth the flask. He took a long gurgling swig, coughed and threw back his head, shutting his eyes and smacking his bill in a way half human, half galline.
“Man, yon’s the richt stuff,” he murmured, handing it back. “It’s gey scarce aboot here.”
“And pray,” I went on, thinking it well to avoid an answer to his last question. “Whose estate do we happen to have trespassed upon? I was not aware that there were any private grounds in this district.”
