‘Friend,’ said the Quaker, ‘it is not for thine own health, seeing thou hast drunk enough already—however—here, handmaiden—bring me a gill of sherry.’
‘Sherry’s but shilpit drink, and a gill’s a sma’ measure for twa gentlemen to crack ower at their first acquaintance. But let us see your sneaking gill of sherry,’ said Poor Peter, thrusting forth his huge hand to seize on the diminutive pewter measure, which, according to the fashion of the time, contained the generous liquor freshly drawn from the butt.
‘Nay, hold, friend,’ said Joshua, ‘thou hast not yet told me what name and surname I am to call thee by.’
‘D—d sly in the Quaker,’ said Nanty, apart, ‘to make him pay for his liquor before he gives it him. Now, I am such a fool, that I should have let him get too drunk to open his mouth, before I thought of asking him a question.’
‘My name is Peter Peebles, then,’ said the litigant, rather sulkily, as one who thought his liquor too sparingly meted out to him; ‘and what have you to say to that?’
‘Peter Peebles?’ repeated Nanty Ewart and seemed to muse upon something which the words brought to his remembrance, while the Quaker pursued his examination.
‘But I prithee, Peter Peebles, what is thy further designation? Thou knowest, in our country, that some men are distinguished by their craft and calling, as cordwainers, fishers, weavers, or the like, and some by their titles as proprietors of land (which savours of vanity)—now, how may you be distinguished from others of the same name?’
‘As Peter Peebles of the great plea of Poor Peter Peebles against Plainstanes, ET PER CONTRA—if I am laird of naething else, I am ay a DOMINUS LITIS.’
‘It’s but a poor lairdship, I doubt,’ said Joshua.
‘Pray, Mr. Peebles,’ said Nanty, interrupting the conversation abruptly, ‘were not you once a burgess of Edinburgh?’