It was the Scots Fusilier I had clipped on the jaw in defending Gresson after the Glasgow meeting.
But by a strange fatality he had caught sight of me.
'Whae's that i' the corner ?' he cried, leaving the bar to stare at me.
Now it is a queer thing, but if you have once fought with a man, though only for a few seconds, you remember his face, and the scrap in Glasgow had been under a lamp.

The jock recognized me well enough.
'By God!' he cried, 'if this is no a bit o' luck! Boys, here's the man I feucht wi' in Glesca.

Ye mind I telled ye about it.

He laid me oot, and it's my turn to do the same wi' him.

I had a notion I was gaun to mak' a nicht o't.