"I wish tae hat peen hoolets for your sake, Maister Twick," said Roderick, fiercely.
"Why, Rory, why? An owl-pie would not quite suit my complexion.—But, hang it, man, what is wrong? Judging from your own physiog, one might suppose you had been making your dinner on the bird of Minerva yourself."
"Maister Twick," said Rory, with a face as sour as vinegar, "I am unwilling to pe uncivil in my own house;—but I red you no to pe sae free wi' your nicknames."
"Nicknames!" interjected Twig, in great surprise.
"Yes, sir—you have taken tae unwarrantaple liperty of calling me a Solan—yes, sir, a Solan.—Tid you mean it offensively, sir?"
"No offence, Mac," shouted Twig, "none in the least.—Offence!—in likening you to Solon, the glory of Greece—the great lawgiver—the Athenian Solon!"
Rory grew frantic at this (as he thought) additional insult.—"Creese—Creese!—I ken o' nae Solans, sir, put tae filthy ill-faured pirds tat leeve in tae water."
"But Rory, my dear fellow"——
"Ton't tear fellow me, sir.—You may ca' them what ye like, sir, in Creese—but a Solan at tae Craik of Ailsa[[2]] is ca'd a cuse, sir, an' naething else, I ken tat, sir, I ken tat; and if ony shentlemans will tare to liken Roterick Macgregor to sic an ill-flavoured pird, sir, py"——
[[2]] A remarkable insulated rock in the frith of Clyde, famous for its solan geese, from which (the rock, not the geese) the Marquis of Ailsa takes his title.