DAVID. Wee Alexander.

JOHN. No.

DAVID. Greetin' his heart out.

JOHN. Och, he's no greetin'. Lizzie's wi' him.

DAVID. I ken fine Lizzie's wi' him, but he's greetin' for a' her.
He was wantin' to hear yon story o' the kelpies up to Cross Hill
wi' the tram--(_Breaking his mood impatiently_) Och.

JOHN (_crossing to table and lighting up there_). It's gettin' dark
gey early. We'll shin be haein' tea by the gas.

DAVID (_rustling his paper_). Aye--(_Suddenly_) There never was a
female philosopher, ye ken, John.

JOHN. Was there no'?

DAVID. No. (_Angrily, in a gust_) An'there never will be! (_Then
more calmly_) An' yet there's an' awful lot o' philosophy about
women, John.

JOHN. Aye?

DAVID. Och, aye. They're that unreasonable, an' yet ye canna
reason them down; an' they're that weak, an' yet ye canna make
them gie in tae ye. Of course, ye'll say ye canna reason doon a