"Is it a good man that you are calling him?" said the captain. "Well, be it so; the more merit in my baiting him." "That's true; but you have not beat him yet," said his companion. "Not bate him yet? Is not there the paper that I am going to write the challenge on? and is not there the pen and the ink that I am going to write it with? and is not there yourself, John Turner, my hired servant, that's bound to take him the challenge when 'tis written?" "That's true; here we are all four--pen, ink, paper, and John Turner; but there's something else wanted to beat Bishop Sharpe." "What else is wanted?" shouted the captain. "Why, to be a better man than he." "And ain't I that man?" "Why, that remains to be seen." "Ain't I an Irishman?" "Yes, I believe you to be an Irishman. No one, to hear you talk, but would think you that, or a Frenchman. I was in conversation with one of that kind the other day. Hearing him talk rather broken, I asked him what countryman he was. 'What countryman are you?' said I.--'I?' said he, 'I am one Frenchman,' and then he looked at me as if I should sink into the earth under his feet.--'You are not the better for that,' said I; 'you are not the better for being a Frenchman, I suppose,' said I.--'How?' said he; 'I am of the great nation which has won all the battles in the world.'--'All the battles in the world?' said I. 'Did you ever hear of the battle of Waterloo?' said I. You should have seen how blue he looked. 'Ah! you can't get over that,' said I; 'you can't get over the battle of Waterloo,' said I." "Is it the battle of Waterloo you are speaking of, you spalpeen? And to one who was there, an Irish cavalier, fighting in the ranks of the brave French! By the powers! if the sacrifice would not be too great, I would break this pipe in your face." "Why, as to that, two can play at that," said he of the glazed hat, smoking on very composedly. "I remember I once said so to young Cope--you have heard of young Cope. I was vally to young Cope and servant of all work twenty year ago at Brighton. So one morning after I had carried up his boots, he rings the bell as if in a great fury. 'Do you call these boots clean?' said young Cope, as soon as I showed myself at the door. 'Do you call these clean?' said he, flinging one boot at my head, and then the other. 'Two can play at that game,' said I, catching the second boot in my hand, 'two can play at that game,' said I, aiming it at young Cope's head--not that I meant to fling it at young Cope's head, for young Cope was a gentleman; yes, a gentleman, captain, though not Irish, for he paid me my wages."