He was excessively impudent, and seemed to think we couldn't have had a Happy Family without him and his chattering senseless magpie.
When I told him to remember he was speaking to a gentleman, he grinned at me.
"A gentleman?
Nay, my sakes! Ye're not civil enough by half.

More like a new policeman, if ye weren't such a Guy Fawkes in that finery." "Be off," said I, "and take your bird with you." "What if I won't go ?" "I'll make you!" "Ye darsen't touch me." "Daren't I ?" "Ye darsen't." "I dare." "Try." "_Are_ you going ?" "Noa." I only pushed him.

He struck first.

He's bigger than me, but he's a bigger coward, and I'd got him down in the middle of the stage, and had given him something to bawl about, before I became conscious that the curtain was up.

I only realised it then, because civil, stupid Fred, arrived at the left wing, panting and gasping-- "Measter Bayard! Here's a young wood-owl for ye." As he spoke, it escaped him, fluff and feathers flying in the effort, and squawking, plunging, and fluttering, made wildly for the darkest corner of the stage, just as Lettice ran on the mechanical mouse in front.
Bernard rose, and shook off everything, and Cocky went into screaming hysterics; above which I now heard the thud of Uncle Patrick's crutch, and the peals upon peals of laughter with which our audience greeted my long-planned spectacle of a Happy Family! * * * * * Our Irish uncle is not always nice.