I, knowing there is never a Scot but has the name of his kailyard
tacked to his own.

"A King's name is good enough for me; I bear it plain. Mr. -?"
said he, reddening.

"They call me the Chevalier Barry, of Ballybarry."

"I am in the better company, sir," quoth he, with a grand bow.

When a bowl of punch was brought he takes off his hat, and drinks,
very solemnly, "To the King!"

"Over the water?" I asked.

"Nay, sir, on THIS side," he said; and I smoked the Jacobite. But
to shorten the story, which amuses my tedium but may beget it in
you, I asked him if he knew the cards.

"I'm just daft when I get to the cartes," he answered in his
brogue, and we fell to piquet. Now my Scot wore a very fine coat,
and on the same very large smooth silver buttons, well burnished.
Therefore, perceiving such an advantage as a skilled player may
enjoy, I let him win a little to whet his appetite, but presently
used his buttons as a mirror, wherein I readily detected the
strength of the cards he held. Before attempting this artifice, I
had solemnly turned my chair round thrice.

"You have changed the luck, sir," says Mr. Breck, or Stuart,
presently; and, rising with a mighty grave air, he turned his coat