"Alec, ye'll wiss to God ye hadna, whan ye come to marry a bonnie wife."
It was a true but ill-timed argument. Alec flared up wildly.
"Wife!" he cried, "there's no wife for me. Haud oot o' my gait. Dinna ye see I hae been drinkin'? And I winna be contred."
"Drinkin'!" exclaimed Mr Cupples. "Little ye ken aboot drinkin'. I hae drunken three times as muckle as you. And gin that be ony argument for me haudin' oot o' your gait, it's mair argument yet for you to haud oot o' mine. I sweir to God I winna stan' this ony langer. Ye're to come hame wi' me frae this mou' o' hell and ugsome (frightful) deith. It gangs straucht to the everlastin' burnin's. Eh, man! to think nae mair o' women nor that!"
And the brave little man placed himself right between Alec and the door, which now opened half-way, showing several peering and laughing faces.
But the opposition of Mr Cupples had increased the action of the alcohol upon Alec's brain, and he blazed up in a fury at the notion of being made a laughter to the women. He took one step towards Mr Cupples, who had restored his hands to his pockets and backed a few paces towards the door of the house, to guard against Alec's passing him.
"Haud oot o' my gait, or I'll gar ye," he said fiercely.
"I will not," answered Mr Cupples, and lay senseless on the stones of the court.
Alec strode into the house, and the door closed behind him.
By slow degrees Mr Cupples came to himself. He was half dead with cold, and his head was aching frightfully. A pool of blood lay on the stones already frozen. He crawled on his hands and knees, till he reached a wall, by which he raised and steadied himself. Feeling along this wall, he got into the street; but he was so confused and benumbed that if a watchman had not come up, he would have died on some doorstep. The man knew him and got him home. He allowed both him and his landlady to suppose that his condition was the consequence of drink; and so was helped up to his garret and put to bed.