"I want to show my friend the town," he explained with a laugh, but he came forward and shook hands and presented Whitney.
Mackellar was about fifty years of age, strongly built, and dressed in quiet taste. He had a shrewd, thoughtful face, with a hint of command in it, and there was a touch of formality in his manner, but Whitney liked his faint, twinkling smile.
"Weel," said the Scot, after they had talked a while, "ye may take your friend out to see the town now, Dick; but, with Mr. Whitney's leave, I'll keep your cousin here until ye come back."
Whitney felt amused as he saw that Dick had failed in his rather obvious intention of preventing the others from enjoying a private talk.
When Whitney and Dick had gone, Mackellar rang a bell that stood on the table. "Ye'll join me with a glass o' wine," he said to Andrew.
The wine was brought, and though Andrew did not hear what Mackellar said to the waitress, he imagined that they would not be disturbed.
"I would say Dick's new friend is to be trusted," Mackellar began when they were alone.
"Of course," said Andrew. "If I grasp what you mean, he'll do the boy no harm; but he's really a friend of mine."
"That should put the thing beyond all doubt," Mackellar replied, and filled the glasses.
Andrew waited. Mackellar was generally deliberate, but people valued his opinion. He had been a lawyer, and in the small Scottish towns lawyers are entrusted with their clients' investments, and, in consequence, are often appointed agents by the banks.