Thinking it now high time to retire with my booty

Thinking it now high time to retire with my booty, I asked if anybody would take my place, and made a notion to rise; upon which an old Gascon, who sat opposite to me, and of whom I had won a little money, started up with fury in his looks, crying, “Restez, foutre, restez! il faut donner moi mon ravanchio!” At the same time, a Jew, who sat near the other, insinuated that I was more beholden to art than fortune for what I had got; that he had observed me wipe the table very often, and that some of the divisions appeared to be greasy. This intimation produced a great deal of clamour against me, especially among the losers, who threatened with many oaths and imprecations, to take me up by a warrant as a sharper, unless I would compromise the affair by refunding the greatest part of my winning. Though I was far from being easy under his accusation, I relied upon my innocence, threatened in my turn to prosecute the Jew, for defamation, and boldly offered to submit my cause to the examination of any justice in Westminster; but they knew themselves too well to put their characters on that issue, and finding that I was not to be intimidated into any concession, dropped their plea, and made way for me to withdraw. I would not, however, stir from the table until the Israelite had retracted what he had said to my disadvantage, and asked pardon before the whole assembly.
As I marched out with my prize, I happened to tread on the toes of a tall raw-boned fellow, with a hooked nose, fierce eyes, black thick eyebrows, a pigtail wig of the same colour, and a formidable hat pulled over his forehead, who stood gnawing his fingers in the crowd, and he sooner felt the application of my shoe heel, than he roared out in a tremendous voice, “Blood and wounds! you son of a whore, what’s that for?” I asked pardon with a great deal of submission, and protested I had no intention of hurting him; but the more I humbled myself the more he stormed, and insisted on gentlemanly satisfaction, at the same time provoking me with scandalous names that I could not put up with; so that I gave loose to my passion, returned his Billingsgate, and challenged him down to the piazzas. His indignation cooling as mine warmed, he refused my invitation, saying he would choose his own time, and returned towards the table muttering threats, which I neither dreaded nor distinctly beard; but, descending with great deliberation, received my sword from the door-keeper, whom I gratified with a guinea, according to the custom of the place, and went home in a rapture of joy.
My faithful valet, who had set up all night in the utmost uneasiness on my account, let me in with his face beslubbered with tears, and followed me to my chamber, where he stood silent like a condemned criminal, in expectation of hearing that every shilling was spent, I guessed the situation of his thoughts, and, assuming a sullen look, bade him fetch me some water to wash. He replied, without lifting his eyes from the ground, “In my simple conjecture, you have more occasion for rest, not having (I suppose) slept these four-and-twenty hours.” “Bring me some water!” said I, in a peremptory tone; upon which he sneaked away shrugging his shoulders. Before he returned, I had spread my whole stock on the table in the most ostentatious manner; so that, when it first saluted his view, he stood like one entranced; and, having rubbed his eyes more than once, to assure himself of his being awake, broke out into, “Lord have mercy upon us, what a vast treasure is here!” “’Tis all our own, Strap,” said I; “take what is necessary, and redeem the sword immediately.” He advanced towards the table, stopped short by the way, looked at the money and me by turns, and with a wildness in his countenance, produced from joy checked by distrust, cried, “I dare say it is honestly come by.” To remove his scruples, I made him acquainted with the whole story of my success, which, when he heard, he danced about the room in an ecstacy, crying, “God be praised! — a white stone! — God be praised! — a white stone!” So that I was afraid the change of fortune bad disordered his intellects, and that he was run mad with joy. Extremely concerned at this event, I attempted to reason him out of his frenzy, but to no purpose; for without regarding what I said, he continued to frisk up and down, and repeat his rhapsody, of “God be praised! — a white stone!” At last, I rose in the utmost consternation, and, laying violent hands upon him, put a stop to his extravagance by fixing him down to a settee that was in the room. This constraint banished his delirium; he started as if just awoke, and terrified at my behaviour, cried, “What is the matter!” When he learned the cause of my apprehension, he was ashamed of his transports, and told me, that in mentioning the white stone, he alluded to the Dies fast of the Romans, alibi lapped knotty.