‘Shlipped a cog, Mishter Connor! Mosh hunfortunate! Beauchiful hinstrument, but shlips a cog. Mosh hunfortunate!’
And he wagged his little head sagely, playing all the while for dear life, now second and now lead.
Poor Billy! I pitied him, but I thought chiefly of the beautiful, eager face that leaned towards him the night the League was made, and of the bright voice that said, ‘You’ll sign with me, Billy?’ and it seemed to me a cruel deed to make him lose his grip of life and hope; for this is what the pledge meant to him.
While I was trying to get Billy away to some safe place, I heard a great shouting in the direction of the bar, followed by trampling and scuffling of feet in the passage-way. Suddenly a man burst through, crying—
‘Let me go! Stand back! I know what I’m about!’
It was Nixon, dressed in his best; black clothes, blue shirt, red tie, looking handsome enough, but half-drunk and wildly excited. The highland Fling competition was on at the moment, and Angus Campbell, Lachlan’s brother, was representing the lumber camps in the contest. Nixon looked on approvingly for a few moments, then with a quick movement he seized the little Highlander, swung him in his powerful arms clean off the floor, and deposited him gently upon a beer-barrel. Then he stepped into the centre of the room, bowed to the judges, and began a sailor’s hornpipe.
The committee were perplexed, but after deliberation they decided to humour the new competitor, especially as they knew that Nixon with whisky in him was unpleasant to cross.
Lightly and gracefully he went through his steps, the men crowding in from the bar to admire, for Nixon was famed for his hornpipe. But when, after the hornpipe, he proceeded to execute a clog-dance, garnished with acrobatic feats, the committee interfered. There were cries of ‘Put him out!’ and ‘Let him alone! Go on, Nixon!’ And Nixon hurled back into the crowd two of the committee who had laid remonstrating hands upon him, and, standing in the open centre, cried out scornfully—
‘Put me out! Put me out! Certainly! Help yourselves! Don’t mind me!’ Then grinding his teeth, so that I heard them across the room, he added with savage deliberation, ‘If any man lays a finger on me, I’ll—I’ll eat his liver cold.’
He stood for a few moments glaring round upon the company, and then strode toward the bar, followed by the crowd wildly yelling. The ball was forthwith broken up. I looked around for Billy, but he was nowhere to be seen. Graeme touched my arm—