“Come roond and we’ll pitch ye all into ta watter!” shouted Scoodrach.
“Yes, come round the other side, you bun-faced looking bailiff!” cried Kenneth; and the defenders uttered a fresh cheer, while Grant in his excitement took off his black coat and white cravat, and rolled up his sleeves, before putting on an apron one of the maids had fetched.
“Hurray, Grant! you look as if you were going to clean the plate,” cried Max excitedly.
“I’m going to take care, sir, that that scum does not touch it,” said Grant, with dignity. “Well done, laddie!” he added to himself. “I’m beginning to like him after a’.”
“Are you going to open this gate?” cried the bailiff, waving his piece of blue paper.
“Yes, when you are gone,” cried Kenneth, stooping quickly, picking a potato out of the basket at his feet, and throwing it with such good aim that it struck the bailiff in the chest.
This was the signal for a general discharge, Max and Scoodrach hurling potatoes with all their might at the attacking party, and with more or less good aim.
“Oh, if they’d only come close in ready for the boiling lead!” cried Kenneth.
“Here, Shon!” shouted Max, whose face was crimson with excitement; “more potatoes—I mean cannon balls. Bring up a sack.”
“It’ll be the worse for you,” shouted the bailiff. “Come on, my lads, in with you!”