Out of my ken, you cur of the mange!--out of my ken; and if ever I claps my sees on you again, or if ever I knows as how you makes a flat of my Paul, blow me tight but I'll weave you a hempen collar,--I'll hang you, you dog, I will.

What! you will answer me, will you?
Oh, you viper, budge and begone!" It was in vain that Dummie protested his innocence.

A violent coup-de-pied broke off all further parlance.

He made a clear house of the Mug; and the landlady thereof, tottering back to her elbow-chair, sought out another pipe, and, like all imaginative persons when the world goes wrong with them, consoled herself for the absence of realities by the creations of smoke.
Meanwhile Dummie Dunnaker, muttering and murmuring bitter fancies, overtook Paul, and accused that youth of having been the occasion of the injuries he had just undergone.

Paul was not at that moment in the humour best adapted for the patient bearing of accusations.