LAWSON. _Vidi_, _scivi_, _et audivi_, as we say in a Sasine, William.] Man, because my wig’s pouthered do ye think I havena a green heart? I was aince a lad mysel’, and I ken fine by the glint o’ the e’e when a lad’s fain and a lassie’s willing. And, man, it’s the town’s talk; _communis error fit jus_, ye ken. [OLD BRODIE. Oh! LAWSON. See, ye’re hurting your faither’s hand. BRODIE. Dear dad, it is not good to have an ill-tempered son. LAWSON. What the deevil ails ye at the match? ’Od, man, he has a nice bit divot o’ Fife corn-land, I can tell ye, and some Bordeaux wine in his cellar! But I needna speak o’ the Bordeaux; ye’ll ken the smack o’t as weel’s I do mysel’; onyway it’s grand wine. _Tantum et tale_. I tell ye the _pro’s_, find you the _con.’s_, if ye’re able.] BRODIE. [I am sorry, Procurator, but I must be short with you.] You are talking in the air, as lawyers will. I prefer to drop the subject [and it will displease me if you return to it in my hearing]. LESLIE. At four o’clock to-morrow? At my house? (_to_ MARY). MARY. As soon as church is done. (_Exit_ MARY.) LAWSON. Ye needna be sae high and mighty, onyway. BRODIE. I ask your pardon, Procurator. But we Brodies—you know our failings! [A bad temper and a humour of privacy.] LAWSON. Weel, I maun be about my business. But I could tak’ a doch-an-dorach, William; _superflua non nocent_, as we say; an extra dram hurts naebody, Mr. Leslie. BRODIE (_with bottle and glasses_). Here’s your old friend, Procurator. Help yourself, Leslie. Oh no, thank you, not any for me. You strong people have the advantage of me there. With my attacks, you know, I must always live a bit of a hermit’s life. LAWSON. ’Od, man, that’s fine; that’s health o’ mind and body. Mr. Leslie, here’s to you, sir. ’Od, it’s harder to end than to begin wi’ stuff like that. SCENE III _To these_, SMITH and JEAN, _C._ SMITH. Is the king of the castle in, please? LAWSON (_aside_). Lord’s sake, it’s Smith! BRODIE (_to_ SMITH). I beg your pardon? SMITH. I beg yours, sir. If you please, sir, is Mr. Brodie at home, sir? BRODIE. What do you want with him, my man? SMITH. I’ve a message for him, sir, a job of work, sir! BRODIE (_to_ SMITH; _referring to_ JEAN). And who is this? JEAN. I am here for the Procurator, about my rent. There’s nae offence, I hope, sir. LAWSON. It’s just an honest wife I let a flat to in Libberton’s Wynd. It’ll be for the rent? JEAN. Just that, sir. LAWSON. Weel, ye can just bide here a wee, and I’ll step down the road to my office wi’ ye. (_Exeunt_ BRODIE, LAWSON, LESLIE, _C._) SCENE IV SMITH, JEAN WATT, OLD BRODIE.