Secretary with Macdonald of Glencoe, a short-horned bull
of a man.
"And when was it," said he, rapping the words out like hammer-strokes on
an anvil, "that the Macdonalds got feart?"
The Chief pulled up short, hit clean and hard between the eyes.
"Ye'll never see a feart Macdonald," he said, "if ye live to be as auld
as Ben Nevis."
"Ye're in the wrong, Glencoe," said Charles. "I saw one this morning, and
he was frightened of the English."
"I'll gie ye the lie o' that," roared Glencoe, "if I hae to scrat my way
into London wi' ma nails."
"I'll be glad of the lie from you on those terms," replied Charles
calmly, "and you shall ride into London at my right hand while I take my
words back."
The Prince went to a table and filled a silver-gilt tass with brandy. He
sipped it and then, handing it to the Chief, said, "We'll share the same
glass to-day, Glencoe, as a pledge that we'll share the same victory
to-morrow."
I did not like his brandy-drinking, but he did it well this time. As I
have said, he was at his best in dealing with a single man face to face.
It is only the rarest and finest spirits that can dominate a crowd.
Pages:
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442