me?" he asked, and I went over the incident
on the quay. It was enough. It left him as hot as myself. He fingered
at his coat-buttons and his cuffs, fastening and unfastening them; he
played nervously with the hilt of his dirk; up would go his brows and
down again like a bird upon his prey; his lips would tighten on his
teeth, and all the time he was muttering in his pick of languages
sentiments natural to the occasion. Gaelic is the poorest of tongues to
swear in: it has only a hash of borrowed terms from Lowland Scots; but
my cavalier was well able to make up the deficiency.

"Quite so; very true and very comforting," I said at last; "but what's
to be done?"

"What's to be done?" said he, with a start "Surely to God there's no
doubt about that!"

"No, sir; I hope you know me better. But how's it to be done? I thought
of going up in front of the whole quay and making him chew his lie at
the point of my dagger. Then I thought more formality was needed--a
friend or two, a select venue, and careful leisure time for so important
a meeting."

"But what's the issue upon which the rencontre shall take place?" asked
M'Iver, it seemed to me with ridiculous scrupulosity.

"Why need you ask?" said I. "You do not expect me to invite him to
repeat the insult or exaggerate the same."

M'Iver turned on me almost roughly and shook me by the shoulder. "Man!"
said he, "wake up, and do not let your wits hide in the heels of your
boots. Are you clown enough to think of sending a lady's name around
the country tacked on to a sculduddry tale like this? You must make the
issue somewhat more politic than that."

"I agree with you," I confessed; "it was stupid of me not to think of
it, but what can I do? I have no other quarrel with the man."

"Make one, then," said M'Iver. "I cannot comprehend where you learned
your trade as cavalier, or what sort of company you kept in Mackay's, if
you did not pick up and practise the art of forcing a quarrel with a man
on any issue you cared to choose. In ten minutes I could make this young
fellow put down his gage in a dispute about the lacing of boots."

"But in that way at least I'm the poorest of soldiers; I never picked a
quarrel, and yet here's one that sets my gorge to my palate, but cannot
be fought on."

"Tuts, tuts! man," he cried, "it seems that, after all, you must leave
the opening of this little play to John M'Iver. Come with me a bit yont
the Cross here and take a lesson."

He l