Arrah, my honey! you not fit to doctor a cat,--you not fit to bleed a calf,--you not fit to poultice a pig,--after three years' apprenticeship," said he, "and a winter with Doctor Monro?
By the cupping-glasses of 'Pocrates," said he, "and by the pistol of Gallon, but I would have caned him on the spot if he had just let out half as much to me! Look ye, man," said he, "look ye, man, he is all shaking," (this was a God's truth;) "he'll turn tail.
At him like fire, Willie." Magneezhy, though sadly frightened, looked a thought brighter; and made a kind of half step forward.

"Say that ye'll ask my pardon once more,--and if not," whined the poor lad, with a voice broken and trembling, "then we must just shoot one another." "Devil a bit," answered Maister Bloatsheet, "devil a bit.

No, sir; you must down on your bare knees, and beg ten thousand pardons for calling me out here, in a raw morning; or I'll have a shot at you, whether you will or not." "Will you stand that ?" said Blister, with eyes like burning coals.

"By the living jingo, and the holy poker, Magneezhy, if you stand that,--if you stand that, I say, I stand no longer your second, but leave you to disgrace and a caning.

If he likes to shoot you like a dog, and not as a gentleman, then, cuishla machree,--let him do it, and be done!" "No, sir," replied Magneezhy with a quivering voice, which he tried in vain, poor fellow, to render warlike, (he had never been in the volunteers like me.) "Hand us the pistols, then; and let us do or die!" "Spoken like a hero, and brother of the lancet: as little afraid at the sight of your own blood, as at that of your patients," said Blister.
"Hand over the pistols." It was an awful business.