"But it's better not," he said in his own language. "A hundred curses
on the swine-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.

"A ring, a ring!" was now shouted, until the dark rafters, and the
hams that hung on them, trembled again, and the very platters on the
_bink_ clattered against each other. "Well done, Harry."--"Give it him
home, Harry."--"Take care of him now--he sees his own blood!"

Such were the exclamations, while the Highlander, starting from the
ground, all his coldness and caution lost in frantic rage, sprung at
his antagonist with the fury, the activity, and the vindictive purpose
of an incensed tiger-cat. But when could rage encounter science and
temper? Robin Oig again went down in the unequal contest; and as the
blow was necessarily a severe one, he lay motionless on the floor of
the kitchen. The landlady ran to offer some aid, but Mr. Fleecebumpkin
would not permit her to approach.

"Let him alone," he said, "he will come to within time, and come up to
the scratch again. He has not got half his broth yet."

"He has got all I mean to give him though," said his antagonist, whose
heart began to relent towards his old associate; "and I would rather by