Chapter 15 - Page 2

and make sure of mouthing his game. So Nigel
found himself compelled to stand and answer the hackneyed question--
"What news to-day?"

"Nothing extraordinary, I believe," answered the young nobleman,
attempting to pass on.

"O, ye are ganging to the French ordinary belive," replied the knight;
"but it is early day yet--we will take a turn in the Park in the
meanwhile--it will sharpen your appetite."

So saying, he quietly slipped his arm under Lord Glenvarloch's, in
spite of all the decent reluctance which his victim could exhibit, by
keeping his elbow close to his side; and having fairly grappled the
prize, he proceeded to take it in tow.

Nigel was sullen and silent, in hopes to shake off his unpleasant
companion; but Sir Mungo was determined, that if he did not speak, he
should at least hear.

"Ye are bound for the ordinary, my lord?" said the cynic;--"weel, ye
canna do better--there is choice company there, and peculiarly
selected, as I am tauld, being, dootless, sic as it is desirable that
young noblemen should herd withal--and your noble father wad have been
blithe to see you keeping such worshipful society."

"I believe," said Lord Glenvarloch, thinking himself obliged to say
something, "that the society is as good as generally can be found in
such places, where the door can scarcely be shut against those who
come to spend their money."

"Right, my lord--vera right," said his tormentor, bursting out into a
chuckling, but most discordant laugh. "These citizen chuffs and clowns
will press in amongst us, when there is but an inch of a door open.
And what remedy?--Just e'en this, that as their cash gies them
confidence, we should strip them of it. Flay them, my lord--singe them
as the kitchen wench does the rats, and then they winna long to come
back again.--Ay, ay--pluck them, plume them--and then the larded
capons will not be for flying so high a wing, my lord, among the goss-
hawks and sparrow-hawks, and the like."

And, therewithal, Sir Mungo fixed on Nigel his quick, sharp, grey eye,
watching the effect of his sarcasm as keenly as the surgeon, in a
delicate operation, remarks the progress of his anatomical scalpel.

Nigel, however willing to conceal his sensations, could not avoid
gratifying his tormentor by wincing under the operation. He coloured
with vexation and anger; but a quarrel with Sir Mungo Malagrowther
would, he felt, be unutterably ridiculous; and he only muttered to
himself the words, "Impertinent coxcomb!" which, on this occasion, Sir
Mungo's imperfection of organ did not prevent him from hearing and
replying to.