“Mr. Stewart,” said I, in a voice that quivered like a fiddle-string, “you are older than I am, and should know your manners. Do you think it either very wise or very witty to cast my politics in my teeth? I thought, where folk differed, it was the part of gentlemen to differ civilly; and if I did not, I may tell you I could find a better taunt than some of yours.”
Alan had stopped opposite to me, his hat cocked, his hands in his breeches pockets, his head a little on one side. He listened, smiling evilly, as I could see by the starlight; and when I had done he began to whistle a Jacobite air. It was the air made in mockery of General Cope’s defeat at Preston Pans:
“Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin’ yet?
And are your drums a-beatin’ yet?”
And it came in my mind that Alan, on the day of that battle, had been engaged upon the royal side.
“Why do ye take that air, Mr. Stewart?” said I. “Is that to remind me you have been beaten on both sides?”
The air stopped on Alan’s lips. “David!” said he.
“But it’s time these manners ceased,” I continued; “and I mean you shall henceforth speak civilly of my King and my good friends the Campbells.”
“I am a Stewart—” began Alan.
“O!” says I, “I ken ye bear a king’s name. But you are to remember, since I have been in the Highlands, I have seen a good many of those that bear it; and the best I can say of them is this, that they would be none the worse of washing.”
“Do you know that you insult me?” said Alan, very low.