"The proposal is seconded. Any amendment, gentlemen?"
"Man," said Peter MacMannish the cobbler, "man, Aw was just lookin' at Lappiedub's tatties the nicht. Man, yon's a dawmed guid crap."
"Them that's in the wast field is better," said Andrew.
"But the best crap o' wheat Aw seen the year," said Dauvid Peters, "was Torrydyke's."
"Any amendment, gentlemen?"
"Torrydyke ay has graund wheat," said Peter. "D'ye mind yon year—ninety-sax ... or was it ninety-seeven?—man, they tell me that he made a pile o' siller that year."
"Ninety-sax," growled William Mackenzie the farmer of Brigend, "it was ninety-sax, for Aw mind that my broon coo dee'd that summer."
"Aw mind o' her," nodded Andrew, "grass disease, wasn't it?"
"Aye," said Mackenzie. "Aw sent to Lochars for the vet but he was awa frae hame. Syne Aw sent a telegram to the Wanners vet, and when he cam he says to me, says he—"
"Any amendment, gentlemen?" I said.