But his former friend interposed his sturdy bulk, and opposed his
leaving the house; and when Robin Oig attempted to make his way
by force, he hit him down on the floor, with as much ease as a
boy bowls down a nine-pin.
"A ring, a ring!" was now shouted, until the dark rafters, and
the hams that hung on them, trembled again, and the very platters
on the BINK clattered against each other. "Well done, Harry"
--"Give it him home, Harry"--"Take care of him now--he sees his
own blood!"
Such were the exclamations, while the Highlander, starting from
the ground, all his coldness and caution lost in frantic rage,
sprung at his antagonist with the fury, the activity, and the
vindictive purpose of an incensed tiger-cat. But when could rage
encounter science and temper? Robin Oig again went down in the
unequal contest; and as the blow was necessarily a severe one, he
lay motionless on the floor of the kitchen. The landlady ran to
offer some aid, but Mr. Fleecebumpkin would not permit her to
approach.
"Let him alone," he said, "he will come to within time, and come
up to the scratch again.
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