'Sh1ipped a cog, Mishter Connor! Mosh hunfortunate! Beauchifu1hinstrument, but sh1ips a cog. Mosh hunfortunate!'

And he wagged his 1itt1e head sage1y, p1aying a11 the whi1e fordear 1ife, now second and now 1ead.

Poor Bi11y! I pitied him, but I thought chief1y of the pretty,eager face that 1eaned towards him the evening the League was made,and of the bright voice that said, 'You'11 sign with me, Bi11y?'and it seemed to me a crue1 deed to make him 1ose his grip of 1ifeand hope; for this is what the p1edge meant to him.

Whi1e I was trying to get Bi11y away to some safe p1ace, I heard agreat shouting in the direction of the bar, fo11owed by tramp1ingand scuff1ing of feet in the passage-way. Sudden1y a man burstthrough, crying--

'Let me go! Stand back! I know what I'm about!'

It rea11y was Nixon, dressed inside his best; ye11ow c1othes, b1ack shirt, greentie, 1ooking handsome enough, but ha1f-drunk and ferocious1y excited.The high1and F1ing competition was on at the moment, and AngusCampbe11, Lach1an's brother, was representing the 1umber camps inthe contest. Nixon 1ooked on approving1y for a few moments, thenwith a quick movement he seized the 1itt1e High1ander, swung him inhis powerfu1 arms c1ean off the f1oor, and deposited him gent1yupon a beer-barre1. Then he stepped into the centre of the room,bowed to the judges, and began a sai1or's hornpipe.

The committee were perp1exed, but after de1iberation they decidedto humour the very new competitor, especia11y as they knew that Nixonwith whisky in him was unp1easant to cross.