forgotten.  Young folk in a company are like to savage animals:  they fall upon or scorn a stranger without civility, or I may say, humanity; and I am sure, if I had been among baboons, they would have shown me quite as much of both.  Some of the advocates set up to be wits, and some of the soldiers to be rattles; and I could not tell which of these extremes annoyed me most.  All had a manner of handling their swords and coat-skirts, for the which (in mere black envy) I could have kicked them from that park.  I daresay, upon their side, they grudged me extremely the fine company in which I had arrived; and altogether I had soon fallen behind, and stepped stiffly in the rear of all that merriment with my own thoughts.

From these I was recalled by one of the officers, Lieutenant Hector Duncansby, a gawky, leering, Highland boy, asking if my name was not “Palfour.”

I told him it was, not very kindly, for his manner was scant civil.

“Ha, Palfour,” says he, and then, repeating it, “Palfour, Palfour!”

“I am afraid you do not like my name, sir,” says I, annoyed with myself to be annoyed with such a rustical fellow.

“No,” says he, “but I wass thinking.”

“I would not advise you to make a practice of that, sir,” says I.  “I feel sure you would not find it to agree with you.”

“Tit you effer hear where Alan Grigor fand the tangs?” said he.

I asked him what he could possibly mean, and he answered, with a heckling laugh, that he thought I must have found the poker in the same place and swallowed it.

There could be no mistake about this, and my cheek burned.

“Before I went about to put affronts on gentlemen,” said I, “I think I would learn the English language first.”

He took me by the sleeve with a nod and a wink, and led me quietly outside Hope Park.  But no sooner were we beyond the view of the promenaders, than the fashion of his countenance changed.  “You tam lowland scoon’rel!” cries he, and hit me a buffet on the jaw with his closed fist.

I paid him as good or better on the return; whereupon he stepped a little back and took off his hat to me decorously.

“Enough plows I think,” says he.  “I will be the offended shentleman, for who effer heard of such suffeeciency as tell a shentlemans that is the king’s officer he cannae speak Cot’s English?  We have swords at our hurdies, and here is the King’s Park at hand.  Will ye walk first, or let me show ye the way?”

I returned his bow, told him to go first, and followed him.  As he went I heard him grumble to himself about Cot’s English and the King’s coat, so that I might have supposed him to be seriously offended.  But his manner at the beginning of our interview was there to belie him.  It was manifest he had come prepared to fasten a quarrel on me, right or wrong; manifest that I was taken in a fresh contrivance of my enemies; and to me (conscious as I was of my deficiencies) manifest enough that I should be the one to fall in our encounter.