human
There is nothing that would surprise me in this business,
gpt
I'll surprise you ere I'm done! cries he.
human
Do ye see this? --producing a print still wet from the press.
gpt
This is the libel: see, there's Prestongrange's name to the list of witnesses, and I find no word of any Balfour. But here is not the question. Who do ye think paid for the printing of this paper?
human
I suppose it would likely be King George,
gpt
But it happens it was me! he cried.
human
Not but it was printed by and for themselves, for the Grants and the Erskines, and yon thief of the black midnight, Symon Fraser. But could _I_ win to get a copy? No! I was to go blindfold to my defence; I was to hear the charges for the first time in court alongst the jury.
gpt
Is not this against the law?
human
I cannot say so much, he replied.
gpt
It was a favour so natural and so constantly rendered (till this nonesuch business) that the law has never looked to it. And now admire the hand of Providence! A stranger is in Fleming's printing house, spies a proof on the floor, picks it up, and carries it to me. Of all things, it was just this libel. Whereupon I had it set again--printed at the expense of the defence: _sumptibus moesti rei_; heard ever man the like of it?--and here it is for anybody, the muckle secret out--all may see it now. But how do you think I would enjoy this, that has the life of my kinsman on my conscience?
human
Troth, I think you would enjoy it ill,
gpt
And now you see how it is, he concluded,