Galloping Dick
stark before your meats, gulping like a hog, and for two gentlemen to lower across the table upon one another. If that be civility,” says I, “damn your civility,” I says.
The fellow went on with his meal without even the compliment of a word, at which I was somewhat nettled; but seeing I was embarked upon the sally, Dick Ryder was not the man to cry quits with an ugly-visaged, cross-grained, country-bred oaf. And it struck me, too, at the moment that the cully might be one of my own calling, and in much the same plight as myself; for ’tis notorious that some of our trade are surly rascals enough, with no more manners than a jackal.
“If it be,” I resumed tartly, “that a pair of good eyes and a leash of sound legs and arms would be the better wanting in your company, then I take you,” says I, “and, faith, I am in the heart to tolerate your reputable dudgeon. But I would have you to learn, my friend, that suspicion breeds suspicion, and that he is a fool who would not dare to carry off his case with a firm, high hand.”
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