In this case, Shingle's bit of blood swerves, we may assume--Ratoon
rides at him--Shingle fairly turns tail, and starts out at full speed,
Ratoon thundering in his rear, with out--stretched arm; and it does
happen, I am assured, that the hot pursuit often continues for a mile,
before the desired clapperclaw is obtained. But when two lusty planters
meet on horseback, then indeed Greek meets Greek. They, begin the
interview by shouting to each other, while fifty yards off, pulling away
at the gloves all the while--"How are you, Canetop?--glad to see you,
Canetop. How do you do, I hope."--"How are you, Yamfu, my dear fellow?"
their horses fretting and jumping all the time--and if the Jack
Spaniards or gadflies be rife, they have, even when denuded for the
shake, to spur at each other, more like a Knight Templar and a Saracen
charging in mortal combat, than two men merely struggling to be civil;
an after all they have often to get their black servants alongside to
hold their horses, for shake they must, were they to break their necks
in the attempt. Why they won't shake hands with their gloves on, I am
sure I can't tell. It would be much cooler and nicer--lots of Scotchmen
in the community too.
This hand--shaking, however, was followed by an invitation to dinner
from each individual in the company. I looked at Captain Transom, as
much as to say, "Can they mean us to take them at their word?" He
nodded.
"We are sorry, that being under orders to go to sea on Sunday morning,
neither Mr Cringle nor myself can have the pleasure of accepting such
kind invitations.
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