''
A loud shout of laughter followed the proposal,
which indeed had rather escaped from poor Robin's
swelling heart, than been the dictate of his sober
judgment.
``Gentleman, quotha!'' was echoed on all sides,
with a shout of unextinguishable laughter; ``a
very pretty gentleman, God wot---Canst get two
swords for the gentleman to fight with, Ralph
Heskett?''
``No, but I can send to the armoury at Carlisle,
and lend them two forks, to be making shift with
in the meantime.''
``Tush, man,'' said another, ``the bonny Scots
come into the world with the blue bonnet on their
heads, and dirk and pistol at their belt.''
``Best send post,'' said Mr Fleecebumpkin, ``to
the Squire of Corby Castle, to come and stand
second to the gentleman.''
In the midst of this torrent of general ridicule,
the Highlander instinctively griped beneath the
folds of his plaid,
``But it's better not,'' he said in his own language.
``A hundred curses on the swilie-eaters,
who know neither decency nor civility!''
``Make room, the pack of you,'' he said advancing
to the door.
But his former friend interposed his sturdy bulk,
and opposed his leaving the house; and when Robin
Oig attempted to make his way by force, he
hit him down on the floor, with as much ease as a
boy bowls down a nine-pin.
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