"Excuse me, friend Trotter; by simpleton, I merely mean one who is neither subtle nor abstruse—nor steeped in guilt, like the rascal, thy master."
"The rascal, my master, hath you nicely under his thumb, however," grinned Trotter; "and a civil tongue, sir, would be baith advisable and becoming—a' things considered."
"Well, let us not quarrel. Thou seest this ring—'tis worth three hundred gold crowns of James III.; and it will be thine, if thou tellest me all thou knowest about the lady who was brought here last night."
"Weel—give me the ring, sir."
"'Tis a carbuncle, my friend, that once gleamed on the hand of a gallant earl."
"And it is mine, for all I ken—eh?" said Thomas, contemplating the jewel on the top of one of his great fingers with a leer of satisfaction; "the carbumple wad be a bonny die for Else' Gair; and 'tis mine, for a' I ken?"
"Yes—yes."
"Then a' I ken just amounts to nothing," said Tam, with a laugh; "so I might cheat you if I chose; but, though a puir chield (and a simpleton too), I would despise mysel' if I took your ring—so tak' it back, sir——"
"Nay, nay, fellow, I cannot accept it again."
"Weel, it may lie there on the table, for I winna touch it. Men would say, if I took it, that I had betrayed my master."