Cool. All that I desire of you is, that as you promised that on a Sabbath-day you would go to my wife, who now possesses all my effects, and tell her the following particulars—tell her in my name to rectify these matters:—First, That I was owing justly to Provost Crosby £50 Scots, and three years’ interest, but on hearing of his death, my good-brother the Laird of C—l and I forged a discharge, narrated the bond, the sum, and other particulars, with this honourable clause, “And at the time it had fallen by, and could not be found;” with an obligation on the provost’s part to deliver up this bond as soon as he could hit upon it. And this discharge was dated three months before the provost’s death. And when his son and successor, Andrew Crosby, wrote to me concerning this bond, I came to him and showed him the forged discharge, which silenced him; so that I got up my bond without more ado. And when I heard of Robert Kennedy’s death, with the same help of C—l, I got a bill upon him for £190, of which I got full and complete payment. C—l got the half. When I was at Dumfries, the same day that Robert Grier died, to whom I was owing an account of £36, C—l, my good-brother, was then at London; and not being able of myself, being but a bad writer, to make out a discharge of the account, which I wanted, I met accidently with one Robert Boyd, a poor writer lad in Dumfries; I took him to Mrs Carnock’s, and gave him a bottle of wine, and told him I had paid Thomas Grier’s account, but had neglected to get a discharge, and if he would help me to one I would reward him. He flew away from me in a great passion, saying, he would rather be hanged; but if I had a mind for these things, I had better wait till C—l came home. This gave me great trouble, fearing what C—l and I had done formerly was no secret. I followed Boyd to the street, and made an apology, saying, I was jesting, commending him for his honesty, and got his promise never to repeat what had passed. I sent for my Cousin B—m H—rie, your good-brother, who, with no difficulty, for a guinea and a half, undertook and performed all that I wanted; and for a guinea more made me up a discharge for £200 Scots that I was owing to your father-in-law and his friend Mr Muirhead, which discharge I gave to John Ewart, when he desired the money; and he, at my desire, produced it to you, which you sustained.
A great many of the like instances were told, of which I cannot remember the persons, names, and things; but, says he, what vexes me more than all these, is the injustice I did Homer Maxwell, tenant to my Lord Nithsdale, for whom I was factor. I borrowed £2000 from him, £500 of which he borrowed from another hand: I gave him my bond, and, for reasons I contrived, I obliged him to secrecy. He died within the year, and left nine children, his wife being dead before himself. I came to seal up his papers for my lord’s security; his eldest daughter entreated me to look through them all, and to give her an account of what was their stock and what was their debt. I very willingly undertook it; and in going through the papers, I put my own bond in my pocket. His circumstances proving bad, his nine children are now starving. These things I desire you to represent to my wife, and take her brother with you, and let them be immediately rectified, for she has a sufficient fund to do it upon; and if it were done, I think I would be easy, and therefore I hope you will make no delay.
After a short pause, I answered, ’Tis a good errand, Cool, you are sending me to do justice to the oppressed and injured; but notwithstanding I see myself come in for £200 Scots, yet I beg a little time to consider the matter. And since I find you are as much master of reason now as ever, and more than ever, I will reason upon the matter in its general view, and then with respect to the expediency of my being the messenger; and this I will do with all manner of frankness. From what you have said, I see clearly what your present condition is, so that I need not ask any more questions on that head; and you need not bid me take courage, for at this moment I am no more afraid of you than a new-born child.
Cool. Well, say on.
Ogil. Tell me, then, since such is your ability that you can fly a thousand miles in the twinkling of an eye, if your desire to do the oppressed justice be as great as you pretend, what’s the reason you don’t fly to the coffers of some rich Jew or banker, where are thousands of gold and silver, invisibly lift, and invisibly return it to the coffers of the injured? And since your wife has sufficient funds, and more, why cannot you empty her purse invisibly, to make these people amends?
Cool. Because I cannot.
Ogil. You have satisfied me entirely upon that head. But pray, Cool, what is the reason that you cannot go to your wife yourself, and tell her what you have a mind? I should think this a more sure way to gain your point.
Cool. Because I will not.
Ogil. That is not an answer to me, Cool.
Cool. That is one of the questions that I told you long ago I would not answer: but if you go as I desire, I promise to give you full satisfaction after you have done your business. Trust me for once, and believe me I will not disappoint you.