Captain McDonald, stirring the punch, filled all glasses, crying out that we should drink to our sweethearts in bumpers.
"Drink 'em in wine," protested Captain Campbell, thickly. "Who but a feckless McDonald wud drink his leddy in poonch?"
"I said poonch!" retorted McDonald, sternly. "If ye wish wine, drink it; but I'm thinkin' the Argyle Campbells are better judges o' blood than of red wine.
"Stop that clan-feud!" bawled the patroon, angrily.
But the old clan-feud blazed up, kindled from the ever-smouldering embers of Glencoe, which the massacre of a whole clan had not extinguished in all these years.
"And why should an Argyle Campbell judge blood?" cried Captain Campbell, in a menacing voice.
"And why not?" retorted McDonald. "Breadalbane spilled enough to teach ye."
"Teach who?"
"Teach you!--and the whole breed o' black Campbells from Perth to Galway and Fonda's Bush, which ye dub Broadalbin. I had rather be a Monteith and have the betrayal of Wallace cast in my face than be a Campbell of Argyle wi' the memory o' Glencoe to follow me to hell."
"Silence!" roared the patroon, struggling to his feet. Sir George Covert caught at Captain Campbell's sleeve as he rose; Sir John Johnson stood up, livid with anger.