A'm aye tellin' him this is nae land for yon nonsense.

Gin we were in Rooshie, or Germany whaur the people have lived in black slavery or even in the auld land whaur the fowk are haudden doon wi' generations o' class bondage, there might be a chance for a revolutionary.

But what can ye dae in a land whaur the fowk are aye climbin' through ither, noo up, noo down, noo maister, noo man?
Ye canna make Canadians revolutionaries.

They are a' on the road to be maisters.

Malcolm is a clever loon but he has a wee bee in his bonnet." The old lady smiled quizzically at her big, serious-faced son.
"Noo, mither, ye're just talkin' havers," he said.