“Well, well,” said Oldbuck, “I am glad you have the grace to be ashamed of it—as I detest the whole race of Nimrods, I wish them all as well matched. Nay, never start off at a jest, man—I have done with the phoca—though, I dare say, the Bailie could tell us the value of seal-skins just now.”
“They are up,” said the magistrate, “they are well up—the fishing has been unsuccessful lately.”
“We can bear witness to that,” said the tormenting Antiquary, who was delighted with the hank this incident had given him over the young sportsman: One word more, Hector, and
We’ll hang a seal-skin on thy recreant limbs.
Aha, my boy! Come, never mind it; I must go to business.—Bailie, a word with you: you must take bail—moderate bail, you understand—for old Ochiltree’s appearance.”
“You don’t consider
