JEAN. Geordie Smith, ye ken vera weel I'll tak' nane o' that
sort of talk frae you. And what kind o' a man are you to even
yoursel' to the likes o' him? He's a gentleman.

SMITH. Ah, ain't he just! And don't he live up to it? I say,
Jean, feel of this chair.

JEAN. My! look at yon bed!

SMITH. The carpet too! Axminster, by the bones of Oliver
Cromwell!

JEAN. What a expense!

SMITH. Hey, brandy! The deuce of the grape! Have a toothful,
Mrs. Watt. [(SINGS) -

'Says Bacchus to Venus,
There's brandy between us,
And the cradle of love is the bowl, the bowl!']

JEAN. Nane for me, I thank ye, Mr. Smith.

SMITH. What brings the man from stuff like this to rotgut and
spittoons at Mother Clarke's; but ah, George, you was born for a
higher spear! And so was you, Mrs. Watt, though I say it that
shouldn't. (SEEING OLD BRODIE FOR THE FIRST TIME.) Hullo! it's
a man!