The Fortunes of Nigel. Вальтер Скотт

have at him.”

      “And, if you do,” said his comrade, “you may get a broken head – he looks not as if he would carry coals.”

      “A fig for your threat,” said Vincent, and instantly addressed the stranger. “Buy a watch, most noble northern Thane – buy a watch, to count the hours of plenty since the blessed moment you left Berwick behind you. – Buy barnacles, to see the English gold lies ready for your gripe. – Buy what you will, you shall have credit for three days; for, were your pockets as bare as Father Fergus’s, you are a Scot in London, and you will be stocked in that time.” The stranger looked sternly at the waggish apprentice, and seemed to grasp his cudgel in rather a menacing fashion. “Buy physic,” said the undaunted Vincent, “if you will buy neither time nor light – physic for a proud stomach, sir; – there is a ‘pothecary’s shop on the other side of the way.”

      Here the probationary disciple of Galen, who stood at his master’s door in his flat cap and canvass sleeves, with a large wooden pestle in his hand, took up the ball which was flung to him by Jenkin, with, “What d’ye lack, sir? – Buy a choice Caledonian salve, Flos sulphvr. cum butyro quant. suff.”

      “To be taken after a gentle rubbing-down with an English oaken towel,” said Vincent.

      The bonny Scot had given full scope to the play of this small artillery of city wit, by halting his stately pace, and viewing grimly, first the one assailant, and then the other, as if menacing either repartee or more violent revenge. But phlegm or prudence got the better of his indignation, and tossing his head as one who valued not the raillery to which he had been exposed, he walked down Fleet Street, pursued by the horse-laugh of his tormentors.

      “The Scot will not fight till he see his own blood,” said Tunstall, whom his north of England extraction had made familiar with all manner of proverbs against those who lay yet farther north than himself.

      “Faith, I know not,” said Jenkin; “he looks dangerous, that fellow – he will hit some one over the noddle before he goes far. – Hark! – hark! – they are rising.”

      Accordingly, the well-known cry of, “‘Prentices – ‘prentices – Clubs – clubs!” now rang along Fleet Street; and Jenkin, snatching up his weapon, which lay beneath the counter ready at the slightest notice, and calling to Tunstall to take his bat and follow, leaped over the hatch-door which protected the outer-shop, and ran as fast as he could towards the affray, echoing the cry as he ran, and elbowing, or shoving aside, whoever stood in his way. His comrade, first calling to his master to give an eye to the shop, followed Jenkin’s example, and ran after him as fast as he could, but with more attention to the safety and convenience of others; while old David Ramsay, with hands and eyes uplifted, a green apron before him, and a glass which he had been polishing thrust into his bosom, came forth to look after the safety of his goods and chattels, knowing, by old experience, that, when the cry of “Clubs” once arose, he would have little aid on the part of his apprentices.

      CHAPTER II

        This, sir, is one among the Seignory,

        Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealth,

        And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst folly

        Lies in a thriftless sort of charity,

        That goes a-gadding sometimes after objects,

        Which wise men will not see when thrust upon them.

The Old Couple.

      The ancient gentleman bustled about his shop, in pettish displeasure at being summoned hither so hastily, to the interruption of his more abstract studies; and, unwilling to renounce the train of calculation which he had put in progress, he mingled whimsically with the fragments of the arithmetical operation, his oratory to the passengers, and angry reflections on his idle apprentices. “What d’ye lack, sir? Madam, what d’ye lack – clocks for hall or table – night-watches – day watches? —Locking wheel being 48 – the power of retort 8 – the striking pins are 48– What d’ye lack, honoured sir? —The quotient – the multiplicand– That the knaves should have gone out this blessed minute! —the acceleration being at the rate of 5 minutes, 55 seconds, 53 thirds, 59 fourths– I will switch them both when they come back – I will, by the bones of the immortal Napier!”

      Here the vexed philosopher was interrupted by the entrance of a grave citizen of a most respectable appearance, who, saluting him familiarly by the name of “Davie, my old acquaintance,” demanded what had put him so much out of sorts, and gave him at the same time a cordial grasp of his hand.

      The stranger’s dress was, though grave, rather richer than usual. His paned hose were of black velvet, lined with purple silk, which garniture appeared at the slashes. His doublet was of purple cloth, and his short cloak of black velvet, to correspond with his hose; and both were adorned with a great number of small silver buttons richly wrought in filigree. A triple chain of gold hung round his neck; and, in place of a sword or dagger, he wore at his belt an ordinary knife for the purpose of the table, with a small silver case, which appeared to contain writing materials. He might have seemed some secretary or clerk engaged in the service of the public, only that his low, flat, and unadorned cap, and his well-blacked, shining shoes, indicated that he belonged to the city. He was a well-made man, about the middle size, and seemed in firm health, though advanced in years. His looks expressed sagacity and good-humour: and the air of respectability which his dress announced, was well supported by his clear eye, ruddy cheek, and grey hair. He used the Scottish idiom in his first address, but in such a manner that it could hardly be distinguished whether he was passing upon his friend a sort of jocose mockery, or whether it was his own native dialect, for his ordinary discourse had little provincialism.

      In answer to the queries of his respectable friend, Ramsay groaned heavily, answering by echoing back the question, “What ails me, Master George? Why, every thing ails me! I profess to you that a man may as well live in Fairyland as in the Ward of Farringdon-Without. My apprentices are turned into mere goblins – they appear and disappear like spunkies, and have no more regularity in them than a watch without a scapement. If there is a ball to be tossed up, or a bullock to be driven mad, or a quean to be ducked for scolding, or a head to be broken, Jenkin is sure to be at the one end or the other of it, and then away skips Francis Tunstall for company. I think the prize-fighters, bear-leaders, and mountebanks, are in a league against me, my dear friend, and that they pass my house ten times for any other in the city. Here’s an Italian fellow come over, too, that they call Punchinello; and, altogether – ”

      “Well,” interrupted Master George, “but what is all this to the present case?”

      “Why,” replied Ramsay, “here has been a cry of thieves or murder, (I hope that will prove the least of it amongst these English pock-pudding swine!) and I have been interrupted in the deepest calculation ever mortal man plunged into, Master George.”

      “What, man!” replied Master George, “you must take patience – You are a man that deals in time, and can make it go fast and slow at pleasure; you, of all the world, have least reason to complain, if a little of it be lost now and then. – But here come your boys, and bringing in a slain man betwixt them, I think – here has been serious mischief, I am afraid.”

      “The more mischief the better sport,” said the crabbed old watchmaker. “I am blithe, though, that it’s neither of the twa loons themselves. – What are ye bringing a corpse here for, ye fause villains?” he added, addressing the two apprentices, who, at the head of a considerable mob of their own class, some of whom bore evident marks of a recent fray, were carrying the body betwixt them.

      “He is not dead yet, sir,” answered Tunstall.

      “Carry him into the apothecary’s, then,” replied his master. “D’ye think I can set a man’s life in motion again, as if he were a clock or a timepiece?”

      “For godsake, old friend,” said his acquaintance, “let us have him here at the nearest – he seems only in a swoon.”

      “A swoon?” said Ramsay, “and what business had he to swoon in the streets? Only, if it