Mr. Parr. Ye'll hae a boatle o' leemonade at my expense? Ye'll no? Then ye wull, Mess Rawse. (With relief, as Miss Rose declines also.) Aweel, I jist thocht I'd pit the quaistion. (To a friend of his, who joins them.) An' hoo's a' wi' ye, Mester McKerrow? Ye're a member o' the Cawmittee, I obsairve, sae I'll hae to keck up a bet row wi' ye.
Mr. McKerrow (unconcernedly). Then ye'll jist to hae to keck it doon again. What's wrang the noo?
Mr. Parr. I'd like to ask ye if ye conseeder it fair or jest to charrge us tippence every time we'd go aff the groon? Man, it's jist an extoartion.
Mr. McKerr. I'm no responsible for 't; but, if I'd ben there, I'd ha' chairged ye twa shellins; sae ye'd better say nae mair aboot the maitter.
[Mr. Parritch does not pursue the subject.
Mr. Havers (as a detachment of the Black Watch Highlanders conclude an exhibition of musical drill). Ye'll be the baiter o' haeing the Block Wetch hier the day. Man, they gie us a colour! It's verra pretty hoo nicely they can pairforrm the drill.... An' noo them sojers is gaun to rin a bet race amang theirsels. This'll be an extry cawmpeteetion, I doot. (As the race is being run.) It's no a verra suitable dress for rinnin'—the spleughan—or "sporran," is it?—hairrts them tairible.
Mr. McKerr. (contradictiously). The sporran does na hairrt them at a'.
Mr. Havers. Man, it's knockin' against them at every stride they tak'. (His attention wanders to a Highland Fling, which three small boys are dancing on a platform opposite.) He's an awfu' bonnie dauncer that wee laddie i' the meddle!
Mr. McKerr. Na sae awfu' bonnie, he luiks tae much at his taes. Yon on the richt is the laddie o' the lote! he disna move his boady at a'.... This'll be the Half Mile Handicap they're stairting for down yonder. It'll gae to Jock Alister—him in the blue breeks.
Mr. Parr. Yon grup-luikin' tyke? I canna thenk it.