Kilwillie: Right, old man. The great day dawns.
Hector: Absolutely. But you know, Kilwillie, I had this strange feeling.
Kilwillie: You're not ill, are you?
Hector: Sweating palms, palpitations. Inability to concentrate, uncontrollable shaking.
Kilwillie: Nothing out of the ordinary there, then.
Hector: Absolutely not. Come on.
Kilwillie: Well, magical moment.
Molly: To your first-born, Archie.
Hector: And don't hang about.
Archie: Well, the way things are going, I wouldn't hold your breath. Slange.
[all four down the whiskey, then choke]
Hector: It's gone off. Tough luck, old man.
[starts to laugh]
Hector: It's gone off.
Archie MacDonald: Go away, and leave me and my barrel to sleep in peace.
Hector Naismith MacDonald: Rotter.
Golly Mackenzie: Would you like a beer?
Molly: Oh, no thanks. It always makes me fart. And we can't have flatulence amongst the ruling classes, can we?