“Maurice! Maurice!” cried O’Shaughnessy, reprovingly, who saw that he was pushing the other’s endurance beyond all bounds.
“I mind weel,” said the Scotchman, “what happened to ane o’ your countrymen wha took upon him to jest as you are doing now. It was to Laurie Cameron he did it.”
“And what said the redoubted Laurie in reply?”
“He did na say muckle, but he did something.”
“And what might it be?” inquired Maurice.
“He threw him ower the brig of Ayr into the water, and he was drowned.”
“And did Laurie come to no harm about the matter?”
“Ay, they tried him for it, and found him guilty; but when they asked him what he had to say in his defence, he merely replied, ‘When the carl sneered about Scotland, I did na suspect that he did na ken how to swim;’ and so the end of it was, they did naething to Laurie.”
“Cool that, certainly,” said I.
“I prefer your friend with the mittens, I confess,” said Maurice, “though I’m sure both were most agreeable companion. But come, Doctor, couldn’t you give us,—