“His wares!” said Cleveland, on looking more attentively at his proceedings; “By Heaven, they are my clothes which I left in a chest at Jarlshof when the Revenge was lost there—Why, Bryce Snailsfoot, thou thief, dog, and villain, what means this? Have you not made enough of us by cheap buying and dear selling, that you have seized on my trunk and wearing apparel?”
Bryce Snailsfoot, who probably would otherwise not have been willing to see his friend the Captain, was now by the vivacity of his attack obliged to pay attention to him. He first whispered to his little foot-page, by whom, as we have already noticed, he was usually attended, “Run to the town-council-house, jarto, and tell the provost and bailies they maun send some of their officers speedily, for here is like to be wild wark in the fair.”
So having said, and having seconded his commands by a push on the shoulder of his messenger, which sent him spinning out of the shop as fast as heels could carry him, Bryce Snailsfoot turned to his old acquaintance, and, with that amplification of words and exaggeration of manner, which in Scotland is called “making a phrase,” he ejaculated—“The Lord be gude to us! the worthy Captain Cleveland, that we were all sae grieved about, returned to relieve our hearts again! Wat have my cheeks been for you,” (here Bryce wiped his eyes,) “and blithe am I now to see you restored to your sorrowing friends!”
“My sorrowing friends, you rascal!” said Cleveland; “I will give you better cause for sorrow than ever you had on my account, if you do not tell me instantly where you stole all my clothes.”
“Stole!” ejaculated Bryce, casting up his eyes; “now the Powers be gude to us!—the poor gentleman has lost his reason in that weary gale of wind.”
“Why, you insolent rascal!” said Cleveland, grasping the cane which he carried, “do you think to bamboozle me with your impudence? As you would have a whole head on your shoulders, and your bones in a whole skin, one minute longer, tell me where the devil you stole my wearing apparel?”
Bryce Snailsfoot ejaculated once more a repetition of the word “Stole! Now Heaven be gude to us!” but at the same time, conscious that the Captain was likely to be sudden in execution, cast an anxious look to the town, to see the loitering aid of the civil power advance to his rescue.
“I insist on an instant answer,” said the Captain, with upraised weapon, “or else I will beat you to a mummy, and throw out all your frippery upon the common!”
Meanwhile, Master John Bunce, who considered the whole affair as an excellent good jest, and not the worse one that it made Cleveland very angry, seized hold of the Captain’s arm, and, without any idea of ultimately preventing him from executing his threats, interfered just so much as was necessary to protract a discussion so amusing.
“Nay, let the honest man speak,” he said, “messmate; he has as fine a cozening face as ever stood on a knavish pair of shoulders, and his are the true flourishes of eloquence, in the course of which men snip the cloth an inch too short. Now, I wish you to consider that you are both of a trade,—he measures bales by the yard, and you by the sword,—and so I will not have him chopped up till he has had a fair chase.”