Brodie. Well, father, do you know me? (He sits beside his father, and takes his hand.)
(Old Brodie. William—ay—Deacon. Greater man—than—his father.
Brodie. You see, Procurator, the news is as fresh to him as it was five years ago. He was struck down before he got the Deaconship, and lives his lost life in mine.
Lawson. Ay, I mind. He was aye ettling after a bit handle to his name. He was kind of hurt when first they made me Procurator.)
Mary. And what have you been talking of?
Lawson. Just o’ thae robberies, Mary. Baith as a burgher and a Crown offeecial, I tak’ the maist absorbing interest in thae robberies.
Leslie. Egad, Procurator, and so do I.
Brodie (with a quick look at Leslie). A dilettante interest, doubtless! See what it is to be idle.
Leslie. ’Faith, Brodie, I hardly know how to style it.
Brodie. At any rate, ’tis not the interest of a victim, or we should certainly have known of it before; nor a practical tool-mongering interest, like my own; nor an interest professional and official, like the Procurator’s. You can answer for that, I suppose?