But matters at length came to a crisis that put them beyond sport.
George, in flying backward to gain the point at which the ball
was going to light, came inadvertently so rudely in contact with
this obstreperous interloper that lie not only overthrew him, but
also got a grievous fall over his legs; and, as he arose, the other
made a spurn at him with his foot, which, if it had hit to its aim,
would undoubtedly have finished the course of the young laird of
Dalcastle and Balgrennan. George, being irritated beyond
measure, as may well be conceived, especially at the deadly
stroke aimed at him, struck the assailant with his racket, rather
slightly, but so that his mouth and nose gushed out blood; and, at
the same time, he said, turning to his cronies: "Does any of you
know who the infernal puppy is?"
"Do you know, Sir?" said one of the onlookers, a stranger, "the
gentleman is your own brother, Sir--Mr. Robert Wringhim
Colwan!"
"No, not Colwan, Sir," said Robert, putting his hands in his
pockets, and setting himself still farther forward than before, "not
a Colwan, Sir; henceforth I disclaim the name."
"No, certainly not," repeated George.
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