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RUPERT. So, the professional agitator hath been at work here. I must take counsel with McCrankie. His uncompromising puritanism will no doubt find a way out of the difficulty.
Enter MCCRANKIE, in breeches.
RUPERT. Odds truth! what means this metamorphosis.
CHORUS gather round.
McCRANKIE. Aweel, aweel, I'll tell ye a' aboot it. I wasna tat weel last nicht, and sae, tae warm my heart, I jist had —
RUPERT. A wee drappie?
McCRANKIE. Wha tauld thee, mon? Sickerly! I had ane wee drappie.
CHORUS. He had one wee drappie!
McCRANKIE. But somegate I felt waur instead o' better; and sae — weel, I jist had anither wee drappie.
RUPERT. He had two wee drappies!
McCRANKIE. But twa wee drappies didna reach the cause.
RUPERT. So thou hadst three?
MCCRANKIE shakes his head.
McCRANKIE. Weel, I didna jistly coont.
RUPERT. Well, thou wert past arithmetic; what then?
McCRANKIE. I'd a fa'an asleep; an' i' my sleep, got crackin' tae mysel'. An' what dae ye think I said?
RUPERT. Mon, I neither ken nor care. (Exit.)
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