He added that he judged I must be, as my hair stuck up on my head--I had taken off my hat out of politeness--as it naturally would do on a pig's back.
This was too much for me, so, before either of the others could speak, I answered in Dutch, for rage made me eloquent and bold: "Yes, I am he; but, mynheer, if you are to be my master, I hope you will not call the English pigs any more to me." "Indeed, gamin" (that is, little scamp), "and pray, what will happen if I am so bold as to repeat that truth ?" "I think, mynheer," I replied, growing white with rage at this new insult, "the same that has happened to yonder buck," and I pointed to the klipspringer behind Hans's saddle.

"I mean that I shall shoot you." "Peste! Au moins il a du courage, cet enfant" (At least the child is plucky), exclaimed Monsieur Leblanc, astonished.

From that moment, I may add, he respected me, and never again insulted my country to my face.
Then Marais broke out, speaking in Dutch that I might understand: "It is you who should be called pig, Leblanc, not this boy, for, early as it is, you have been drinking.

Look! the brandy bottle is half empty.
Is that the example you set to the young?
Speak so again and I turn you out to starve on the veld.

Allan Quatermain, although, as you may have heard, I do not like the English, I beg your pardon.