wan off; but naebody kens when it will be executed. Gude
faith, he had better reason to say sae than he dreamed off, before the
play was played out that morning!"

"This Robertson," said Sharpitlaw, in a lower and something like a
confidential tone, "d'ye ken, Rat--that is, can ye gie us ony inkling
where he is to be heard tell o'?"

"Troth, Mr. Sharpitlaw, I'll be frank wi' ye; Robertson is rather a cut
abune me--a wild deevil he was, and mony a daft prank he played; but
except the Collector's job that Wilson led him into, and some tuilzies
about run goods wi' the gaugers and the waiters, he never did onything
that came near our line o' business."

"Umph! that's singular, considering the company he kept."

"Fact, upon my honour and credit," said Ratcliffe, gravely. "He keepit
out o' our little bits of affairs, and that's mair than Wilson did; I hae
dune business wi' Wilson afore now. But the lad will come on in time;
there's nae fear o' him; naebody will live the life he has led, but what
he'll come to sooner or later."

"Who or what is he, Ratcliffe? you know, I suppose?" said Sharpitlaw.

"He's better born, I judge, than he cares to let on; he's been a soldier,
and he has been a play-actor, and I watna what he has been or hasna been,
for as young as he is, sae that it had daffing and nonsense about it."

"Pretty pranks he has played in his time, I suppose?"

"Ye may say that," said Ratcliffe, with a sardonic smile; "and" (touching
his nose) "a deevil amang the lasses."

"Like enough," said Sharpitlaw. "Weel, Ratcliffe, I'll no stand niffering
wi' ye; ye ken the way that favour's gotten in my office; ye maun be
usefu'."

"Certainly, sir, to the best of my power--naething for naething--I ken
the rule of the office," said the ex-depredator.

"Now the principal thing in hand e'en now," said the official person, "is
the job of Porteous's; an ye can gie us a lift--why, the inner turnkey's
office to begin wi', and the captainship in time--ye understand my
meaning?"

"Ay, troth do I, sir; a wink's as gude as a nod to a blind horse; but
Jock Porteous's job--Lord help ye!--I was under sentence the haill time.
God! but I couldna help laughing when I heard Jock skirting for mercy in
the lads' hands. Mony a het skin ye hae gien me, neighbour, thought I,
tak ye what's gaun: time about's fair play; ye'll ken now what hanging's
gude for."

"Come, come, this is all nonsense, Rat," said the procurator. "Ye canna
creep