Lord Lum. Now, my dear Mac,—ha, ha, ha! as the scoundrel's apology was so very satisfactory, and his information so very agreeable—I told him that, in honour, I thought that my honour cou'd not do less than to order his honour to be paid immediately.
Sir Per. Vary weel—vary weel,—you were as complaisant as the scoundrel till the full, I think, my lord.
Lord Lum. You shall hear,—you shall hear, Mac:—so, sir, with great composure, seeing a smart oaken cudgel that stood very handily in a corner of my dressing room, I ordered two of my fellows to hold the rascal, and another to take the cudgel and return the scoundrel's civility with a good drubbing as long as the stick lasted.
Sir Per. Ha, ha, ha!—admirable!—as guid a stroke of humour as ever I heard of.—And did they drub him, my lord?
Lord Lum. Most liberally—most liberally, sir.—And there I thought the affair would have rested, till I should think proper to pay the soundrel,—but this morning, just as I was stepping into my chaise, my servants all about me, a fellow, called a tipstaff, slept up and begged the favour of my footman, who threshed the upholsterer, and of the two that held him, to go along with him upon a little business to my Lord Chief Justice.
Sir Per. The devil!
Lord Lum. And at the same instant, I, in my turn, was accosted by two other very civil scoundrels, who, with a most insolent politeness, begged my pardon, and informed me that I must not go into my own chaise.
Sir Per. How, my lord?—not into your ain carriage?
Lord Lum. No, sir: for that they, by order of the sheriff, must seize it, at the suit of a gentleman—one Mr. Mahogany, an upholsterer.
Sir Per. An impudent villain!