"Will you take a lift, Mr. McTavish?" he invited dismally.
"Oh, no," said The McTavish, "I won't trouble you, thanks."
Traquair's meeserable conscience got the better of him all at once. And with that his cheerfulness returned.
"Get in," he said. "You cannot help troubling me, Mr. McTavish. I've a word for you, sir."
McTavish, wondering, climbed into the car.
"Fergus," said Traquair to the small boy who acted as groom, messenger, and shoe polisher to the local branch of the Bank of Scotland, "ye'll walk."
When the two were thus isolated from prying ears, Mr. Traquair cleared his throat and spoke. "Is there anything, Mr. McTavish," he said, "in this world that a rich man like you may want?"
"Oh, yes," said McTavish, "some things."
"More wealth?"
McTavish shook his head.