LAWSON. Ye're right, sir; ye're vera right, Mr. Leslie. It had been deponed to me offeecially that no' a tradesman--no' the Deacon here himsel'--could have made a cleaner job wi' Andra Simpson's shutters. And as for the lock o' the bank--but that's an auld sang. BRODIE. I think you believe too much, Procurator. Rumour's an ignorant jade, I tell you. I've had occasion to see some little of their handiwork--broken cabinets, broken shutters, broken doors--and I find them bunglers. Why, I could do it better myself. LESLIE. Gad, Brodie, you and I might go into partnership. I back myself to watch outside, and I suppose you could do the work of skill within? BRODIE. An opposition company? Leslie, your mind is full of good things. Suppose we begin to-night, and give the Procurator's house the honours of our innocence? MARY. You could do anything, you two! LAWSON. Onyway, Deacon, ye'd put your ill-gotten gains to a right use; they might come by the wind, but they wouldna gang wi' the water; and that's aye a _solatium_, as we say. If I am to be robbit, I would like to be robbit wi' decent folk; and no' think o' my bonnie clean siller dirling among jads and dicers. ('Faith, William, the mair I think on't, the mair I'm o' Mr. Leslie's mind. Come the night, or come the morn, and I'se gie ye my free permission, and lend ye a hand in at the window forbye! BRODIE. Come, come, Procurator, lead not our poor clay into temptation. (_LESLIE and MARY talk apart._) LAWSON. I'm no muckle afraid for your puir clay, as ye ca't. But hark i' your ear: ye're likely, joking apart, to be gey and sune in partnership wi' Mr. Leslie. He and Mary are gey and pack, a'body can see that. BRODIE. "Daffin, and want o' wit"--you know the rest. LAWSON. _Vidi, scivi, et audivi_, as we say in a Sasine, William.) Man, because my wig's pouthered do you 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.