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Harry Wakefield dropped the hand of his friend, or rather threw it from him. “I did not think I had deen keeping company for three years with a coward.” “Coward pelongs to none of my name,” said Robin, whose eyes began to kindle, but keeping the command of his temper. “It was no coward’s legs or hands, Harry Waakfelt, that drew you out of the fords of Frew, when you was drifting ower the plack rock, and every eel in the river expected his share of you.” “And that is true enough, too,” said the Englishman, struck by the appeal. “Adzooks!” exclaimed the bailiff—— “sure Harry Wakefield, the nattiest lad at Whitson Tryste, Wooler Fair, Carlisle Sands, or Stagshaw bank, is not going to show white feather? Ah, this comes of living so long with kilts and bonnets—men forget the use of their daddies.” “I may teach you, Master Fleecebumpkin, that I have not lost the use of mine,” said Wakefield, and then went on. “This will never do, Robin. We must have a turn-up, or we shall be the talk of the country side. I’ll be d—————d if I hurt thee——I’ll put on the gloves gin thou like. Come, stand forward like a man.” “To pe peaten like a dog,” said Robin; “is there any reason in that? If you think I have done you wrong. I’ll go before your shudge, though I neither know his law nor his language.”
A general cry of “No, no,——no law, no lawyer! a bellyful and be friends,” was echoed by the bystanders. “ But,” continued Robin, “if I am to fight, I have no skill to fight like a jackanapes, with hands and nails.” “How would you fight then ?” said his antagonist: “though I am thinking it would be hard to bring you to the scratch anyhow.” “I would fight with proadswoards, and sink point on the first blood drawn like a gentlemans.”
A loud shout of laughter followed the proposal, which indeed had rather escaped from poor Robin's swelling heart, than been the dictates of his sober judgment. “Gentleman, quotha!” was echoed on all sides, with
