A very opprobrious epithet was now hurled at the latter. He, without more ado, knocked down the speaker at a blow, capsized the table, which put out the lights, and, in the next instant, darted out of the window, while a bullet, fired from a pistol, cracked the pane of glass over his head. He had leaped into the small court-yard, with a wooden paling round it. The winners dashed toward the door, but found that the "green one" had secured it.
When the three worthies were convinced that the door would not yield to their efforts, and when they heard their "victim" galloping away, they gave a laugh at the trick played them, and returned to the table.
"Strike a light, Bill, and let's pick up what notes have fallen. I have nearly the whole lot in my pocket."
The light soon made its appearance.
"What! None on the floor? Capital; I think I must have them all in my pocket, then:" saying which, he drew out the notes, and laid them on the table.
"Fire and Furies! These are the forged notes! The rascal has whipped up the other heap!"
While all this was going on, I stepped toward the window, but had not stood there long, before I heard the clanking hoofs of a horse beyond the paling, and a shout wafted into the room—"Sloped for Texas!"
The worst part of the story remains to be told: it was my horse on which the rogue was now galloping off.
[From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.]