As I said, we were all on the pig-sty. Of the _habitués_ I scarcely
need to speak to you, since you must know their names, even if
you fail to pronounce them. But there was a stranger amongst us, a
stranger who, it was said, had come from London. Yesterday when I
went ben the house I found him sitting with JESS; to-day, he too, was
sitting with us on the pig-sty. There were tales told about him, that
he wrote for papers in London, and stuffed his vases and his pillows
with money, but TAMMAS HAGGART only shook his head at what he called
"such auld fowks' yeppins," and evidently didn't believe a single
word. Now TAMMAS, you must know, was our humorist. It was not without
difficulty that TAMMAS had attained to this position, and he was
resolved to keep it. Possibly he scented in the stranger a rival
humorist whom he would have to crush. At any rate, his greeting was
not marked with the usual genial cordiality characteristic of Scotch
weavers, and many were the anxious looks exchanged amongst us, as we
watched the preparations for the impending conflict.