iness, Procurator? I rejoice to see it in such excellent
hands.

LAWSON. Ye see, it's this way. I had a crack wi' the laddie Leslie,
_inter pocula_ (he took a stirrup-cup wi' me), and he tells me he has
askit Mary, and she was to speak to ye hersel'. O, ye needna look sae
gash. Did she speak? and what'll you have said to her?

BRODIE. She has not spoken; I have said nothing; and I believe I asked
you to avoid the subject.

LAWSON. Ay, I made a note o' that observation, William (and assoilzied
mysel'). Mary's a guid lass, and I'm her uncle, and I'm here to be
answered. Is it to be ay or no?

BRODIE. It's to be no. This marriage must be quashed; and hark ye,
Procurator, you must help me.

LAWSON. Me? ye're daft! And what for why?

BRODIE. Because I've spent the trust-money, and I can't refund it.

LAWSON. Ye reprobate deevil!

BRODIE. Have a care, Procurator. No wry words!

LAWSON. Do you say it to my face, sir? Dod, sir, I'm the Crown
Prosecutor.

BRODIE. Right. The Prosecutor for the Crown. And where did you get your
brandy?

LAWSON. Eh?

BRODIE. Your brandy! Your brandy, man! Where do you get your brandy? And
you a Crown official and an elder!

LAWSON. Whaur the deevil did ye hear that?

BRODIE. Rogues all! Rogues all, Procurator!

LAWSON. Ay, ay. Lord save us! Guidsake, to think o' that noo!... Can ye
give me some o' that Cognac? I'm ... I'm sort o' shaken, William, I'm
sort o' shaken. Thank you, William! (_Looking piteously at glass._)
_Nunc est bibendum._ (_Drinks._) Troth, I'm set ajee a bit. Wha the
deevil tauld ye?

BRODIE. Ask no questions, brother. We are a pair.

LAWSON. Pair, indeed! Pair, William Brodie! Upon my saul, sir, ye're a
brazen-faced man that durst say it to my face! Tak' you care, my bonnie
young man, that your craig doesna feel the wecht o' your hurdies. Keep
the plainstanes side o' the gallows. _Via trita, via tuta_, William
Brodie!

BRODIE. And the brandy, Procurator? and the brandy?

LAWSON. Ay ... weel ... be't sae! Let the brandy bide, man, let the
brandy bide! But for you and the trust-money ... damned! It's felony.
_Tutor in rem suam_, ye ken, _tutor in rem suam_. But O man, Deacon,
whaur is the siller?

BRODIE. It's gone--O how the devil should I know? But it'll never come
back.

LAWSON. Dear, dear! A' gone to the winds o' heaven! Sae ye're an
extravagant dog, too. _Prodigus et furiosus!_ And that puir lass--eh,
Deacon, man, that puir lass! I mind her such a