They strut round, eight yards apart, tails up, look carefully another way to make the other think it all means nothing, and, being both equally sly, their horns come together as if by concert.
Even so commenced this duel of tongues between these two heroines.
Beeny Liston, looking at everybody but Christie, addressed the natives who were congregating thus:
“Did ever ye hear o' a decent lass taking the herrin' oot o' the men's mooths?—is yon a woman's pairt, I'm asking ye?”
On this, Christie, looking carefully at all the others except Beeny, inquired with an air of simple curiosity:
“Can onybody tell me wha Liston Carnie's drunken wife is speakin' till? no to ony decent lass, though. Na! ye ken she wad na hae th' impudence!”
“Oh, ye ken fine I'm speakin' till yoursel'.”
Here the horns clashed together.
“To me, woman?” (with admirably acted surprise.) “Oo, ay! it will be for the twa years' rent you're awin me. Giest!”
Beeny Liston. “Ye're just the impudentest girrl i' the toon, an' ye hae proved it the day” (her arms akimbo).