Edward policeman when the inspector is in the town. I took him up.

"Bourtree," says I, "I am prood to see ye."

"'Deed, Drumquhat, an' I'm prood to see mysel'. For thirty year I was
drunk every Monday nicht, and that often atweenwhiles that it fair bate
me to tell when ae spree feenished and the next began! But it's three
month since I've seen the thick end o' a tumbler. It's fac' as death!"

"And what began a' this, Bourtree?" said I.

"Juist a fecht wi' M'Kelvie, the sweep, that ca's himsel' a _pugilist_!"

"A fecht made ye a sober man, Bourtree!--hoo in the creation was that?"

"It was this way, Drumquhat. M'Kelvie, a rank Tipperairy Micky, wi' a
nose on him like a danger-signal"--here Bourtree glanced down at his
own, which had hardly yet had time to bleach--"me an' M'Kelvie had been
drinkin' verra britherly in the Blue Bell till M'Kelvie got fechtin'
drunk, an' misca'ed me for a hungry Gallowa' Scot, an' nae doot I gaed
into the particulars o' his ain birth an' yeddication. In twa or three
minutes we had oor coats aff and were fechtin' wi' the bluid rinnin' on
to the verra street.

"The fowk made a ring, but nane dared bid us to stop. Some cried, 'Fetch
the polis!' But little we cared for that, for we kenned brawly that the
polisman had gane awa' to Whunnyliggate to summon auld John Grey for
pasturing his coo on the roadside, as soon as ever he heard that
M'Kelvie an' me war drinkin' in the toon. Oh, he's a fine polisman! He's
aye great for peace. Weel, I was thinkin' that the next time I got in my
left, it wad settle M'Kelvie. An' what M'Kelvie was thinkin' I do not
ken, for M'Kelvie is nocht but an Irishman. But oot o' the grund there
raise a great muckle man in grey claes, and took fechtin' M'Kelvie an'
me by the cuff o' the neck, and dauded oor heids thegither till we saw a
guano-bagfu' o' stars.

"'Noo, wull ye shake hands or come to the lock-up?' says he.

"We thocht he maun be the chief o' a' the chief constables, an' we didna
want to gang to nae lock-ups, so we just shook haun's freendly-like.
Then he sent a' them that was lookin' on awa' wi' a flee in their lugs.

"'Forty men,' says he, 'an' feared to stop twa men fechtin'--cowards or
brutes, eyther o' the twa!' says he.

"There was a bailie amang them he spoke to, so we thocht he was bound to
be a prince o' the bluid, at the least. This is what I thocht, but I
canna tell what M'Kelvie thocht, for he was but an Irishman. So it does
not matter w