"Whats' a' this o't?" exclaimed Mr. Anderson, pushing into the centre of the crowd by which the two women were surrounded.
"O, the hizzy!" exclaimed his wife, who had, at the instant, about a yard of her antagonist's hair rolled about her hand. "It's a' aboot your nichtkep, John, and her curst jeely mug. A' aboot your nichtkep, and the jeely mug."
Now, this allusion to the jelly pot, John perfectly understood, but that to the nightcap he did not, nor did he attend to it; but, as became a dutiful and loving husband to do in such circumstances, immediately took the part of his wife, and was in the act of thrusting her antagonist aside, which operation he was performing somewhat rudely, when he was collared from behind by his neighbour, Thomas Callender, who naturally enough enrolled himself at once on the side of his better half.
"Hauns aff, John!" exclaimed Mr. Callender—their old grudge fanning the flame of that hostility which was at this moment rapidly increasing in the bosoms of both the gentlemen, as he gave Mr. Anderson sundry energetic tugs and twists, with a view of putting him hors de combat. "Hauns aff, neebor!" he said. "Hauns aff, if ye please, till we ken wha has the richt o' this bisness, and what it's a' about."
"Pu' doon their pride, Tam!—pu' doon their pride!" exclaimed Mrs. Callender, who, although intently engaged at the moment in tearing out a handful of her opponent's hair, was yet aware of the reinforcement that had come to her aid. "Pu' doon their pride, Tam. Tack a claut o' John's nichtkep. The limmer says they're better able to afford ane than we are."
While Mrs. Callender was thus expressing the particular sentiments which occupied her mind at the moment, John Anderson had turned round to resent the liberty which the former had taken of collaring him; and this resentment he expressed by collaring his assailant in turn. The consequence of this proceeding was a violent struggle, which finally ended in a close stand-up fight between the male combatants, who shewed great spirit, although, perhaps, not a great deal of science. John Anderson, in particular, struck out manfully, and, in a twinkling, tapped the claret of his antagonist, Tom Callender. Tom, in return, made some fair attempts at closing up the day-lights of John Anderson, but, truth compels us to say, without success. The fight now became general—the wives having quitted their holds of each other, and flown to the rescue of their respective husbands. They were thus all bundled together in one indiscriminate and unintelligible melée. One leading object or purpose, however, was discernible on the part of the female combatants. This was to get hold of the red nightcaps—each that of her husband's antagonist; and, after a good deal of scrambling, and clutching, and punching, they both succeeded in tearing off the obnoxious head-dress, with each a handful of the unfortunate wearer's hair along with it. While this was going on, the conflicting, but firmly united mass of combatants, who were all bundled, or rather locked together in close and deadly strife, was rolling heavily, sometimes one way, and sometimes another, sometimes ending with a thud against a partition, that made the whole house shake, sometimes with a ponderous lodgment against a door, which, unable to resist the shock, flew open, and landed the belligerents at their full length on the floor, where they rolled over one another in a very edifying and picturesque manner.
But this could not continue very long, and neither did it. A consummation or catastrophe occurred, which suddenly, and at once, put an end to the affray. In one of those heavy lee-lurches which the closely united combatants made, they came thundering against the frail legs of a dresser, which was ingeniously contrived to support two or three tiers of shelves, which, again, were laden with stoneware, the pride of Mrs. Anderson's heart, built up with nice and dexterous contrivance, so as to shew to the greatest advantage. Need we say what was the consequence of this rude assault on the legs of the aforementioned dresser, supporting, as it did, this huge superstructure of shelves and crockery? Scarcely. But we will. Down, then, came the dresser; and down, as a necessary corollary, came also the shelves, depositing their contents with an astounding crash upon the floor, not a jug out of some eight or ten, of various shapes and sizes, not a plate out of some scores, not a bowl out of a dozen, not a cup or saucer out of an entire set, escaping total demolition. The destruction was frightful—unprecedented in the annals of domestic mishaps. On the combatants the effect of the thundering crash of the crockery, or smashables, as they have been sometimes characteristically designated, was somewhat like that which has been known to be produced in a sea-fight by the blowing up of a ship. Hostilities were instantly suspended; all looking with silent horror on the dreadful scene of ruin around them. Nor did any disposition to renew the contest return. On the contrary, there was an evident inclination, on the part of two of the combatants—namely, Mr. Callender and his wife—to evacuate the premises. Appalled at the extent of the mischief done, and visited with an awkward feeling of probable responsibility, they gradually edged towards the door, and, finally, sneaked out of the house without saying a word.
"If there's law or justice in the land," exclaimed Mrs. Anderson, in high excitation, as she swept together the fragments of her demolished crockery, "I'll hae't on Tam Callender and his wife. May I niver see the morn, if I haena them afore the Shirra before a week gangs owre my head! I hae a set aff, noo, against her jeely mug, I think."
"It's been a bonny business," replied her husband; "but what on earth was't a' aboot?"
"What was't a' aboot!" repeated his wife, with some asperity of manner, but now possessed of presence of mind enough to shift the ground of quarrel, which she felt would comprise her with her husband. "Didna I tell ye that already? What should it be a' aboot, but her confounded jeely mug! But I'll mak her pay for this day's wark, or I'm sair cheated. It'll be as bad a job this for them as the duck-dub, I'm thinkin."