Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (518 page)

Moore. All right. I can wait.

Brodie (
seeing Hunt
). Ha, a new face — and with a patch! (There’s nothing under heaven I like so dearly as a new face with a patch.) Who the devil, sir, are you that own it? And where did you get it? And how much will you take for it second-hand?

Hunt. Well, sir, to tell you the truth — (
Brodie bows
) — it’s  not for sale. But it’s my own, and I’ll drink your honour’s health in anything.

Brodie. An Englishman, too! Badger, behold a countryman. What are you, and what part of southern Scotland do you come from?

Hunt. Well, your honour, to tell you the honest truth —  —

Brodie (
bowing
). Your obleeged!

Hunt. I knows a gentleman when I sees him, your honour (and, to tell your honour the truth —  —

Brodie.
Je vous baise les mains!
[
Bowing.
])

Hunt. A gentleman is a gentleman, your honour (is always a gentleman, and to tell you the honest truth) —

Brodie. Great heavens! answer in three words, and be hanged to you! What are you, and where are you from?

Hunt. A patter-cove from Seven Dials.

Brodie. Is it possible? All my life long have I been pining to meet with a patter-cove from Seven Dials! Embrace me, at a distance. (A patter-cove from Seven Dials!) Go, fill yourself as drunk as you dare, at my expense. Anything he likes, Mrs. Clarke. He’s a patter-cove from Seven Dials. Hillo! what’s all this?

Ainslie. Dod, I’m for nae mair! (
At back, and rising.
)

Players. Sit down, Ainslie. — Sit down, Andra. — Ma revenge!

Ainslie. Na, na, I’m for canny goin’. (
Coming forward with bottle.
) Deacon, let’s see your gless.

Brodie. Not an inch of it.

Moore. No rotten shirking, Deacon!

(Ainslie. I’m sayin’, man, let’s see your gless.

Brodie. Go to the deuce!)

Ainslie. But I’m sayin’ —  —

Brodie. Haven’t I to play to-night?

Ainslie. But, man, ye’ll drink to bonnie Jean Watt?

Brodie. Ay, I’ll follow you there.
À la reine de mes amours!
(
Drinks.
) What fiend put this in your  way, you hound? You’ve filled me with raw stuff. By the muckle deil! —  —

Moore. Don’t hit him, Deacon; tell his mother.

Hunt (
aside
). Oho!

SCENE III

To these, Smith, Rivers

Smith. Where’s my beloved? Deakin, my beauty, where are you? Come to the arms of George, and let him introduce you. Capting Starlight Rivers! Capting, the Deakin: Deakin, the Capting. An English nobleman on the grand tour, to open his mind, by the Lard!

Rivers. Stupendiously pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Deaking, split me!

Brodie. We don’t often see England’s heroes our way, Captain, but when we do, we make them infernally welcome.

Rivers. Prettily put, sink me! (A demned genteel sentiment, stap my vitals!)

Brodie. O Captain! you flatter me. (We Scotsmen have our qualities, I suppose, but we are but rough and ready at the best. There’s nothing like your Englishman for genuine distinction. He is nearer France than we are, and smells of his neighbourhood. That d —  — d thing, the
je ne sais quoi
, too! Lard, Lard, split me! stap my vitals! O such manners are pure, pure, pure. They are, by the shade of Claude Duval!)

Rivers. Mr. Deakin, Mr. Deakin (this is passatively too much). What will you sip? Give it the
h
anar of a neam.

Brodie. By these most
h
anarable hands now, Captain, you shall not. On such an occasion I could play  host with Lucifer himself. Here, Clarke, Mother Midnight! Down with you, Captain (
forcing him boisterously into a chair
). I don’t know if you can lie, but, sink me! you shall sit. (
Drinking, etc., in dumb-show.
)

Moore (
aside to Smith
). We’ve nobbled him, Geordie!

Smith (
aside to Moore
). As neat as ninepence! He’s taking it down like mother’s milk. But there’ll be wigs on the green to-morrow, Badger! It’ll be twopence and toddle with George Smith.

Moore. O, muck! Who’s afraid of him? (
To Ainslie.
) Hang on, Slinkie.

Hunt (
who is feigning drunkenness, and has overheard; aside
). By Jingo!

Rivers. Will you sneeze, Mr. Deakin, sir?

Brodie. Thanks; I have all the vices, Captain. You must send me some of your rappee. It is passatively perfect.

Rivers. Mr. Deakin, I do myself the
h
anar of a sip to you.

Brodie. Topsy-turvy with the can!

Moore (
aside to Smith
). That made him wink.

Brodie. Your high and mighty hand, my Captain! Shall we dice — dice — dice? (
Dumb-show between them.
)

Ainslie (
aside to Moore
). I’m sayin’ —  — ?

Moore. What’s up now?

Ainslie. I’m no’ to gie him the coggit dice?

Moore. The square ones, rot you! Ain’t he got to lose every brass farden?

Ainslie. What’ll like be my share?

Moore. You mucking well leave that to me.

Rivers. Well, Mr. Deakin, if you passatively will have me shake a
h
elbow —  —

Brodie. Where are the bones, Ainslie? Where are the dice, Lord George? (
Ainslie gives the dice and dice-box to Brodie; and privately a second pair of dice.
) Old Fortune’s counters; the bonnie money-catching, money-breeding bones! Hark to their dry music!  Scotland against England! Sit round, you tame devils, and put your coins on me!

Smith. Easy does it, my lord of high degree! Keep cool.

Brodie. Cool’s the word, Captain — a cool twenty on the first?

Rivers. Done and done. (
They play.
)

Hunt (
aside to Moore, a little drunk
). Ain’t that ‘ere Scots gentleman, your friend, too drunk to play, sir?

Moore. You hold your jaw; that’s what’s the matter with you.

Ainslie. He’s waur nor he looks. He’s knockit the box aff the table.

Smith (
picking up box
). That’s the way
we
does it. Ten to one and no takers!

Brodie. Deuces again! More liquor, Mother Clarke!

Smith. Hooray, our side! (
Pouring out.
) George and his pal for ever!

Brodie. Deuces again, by heaven! Another?

Rivers. Done!

Brodie. Ten more; money’s made to go. On with you!

Rivers. Sixes.

Brodie. Deuce-ace. Death and judgment! Double or quits?

Rivers. Drive on! Sixes.

Smith. Fire away, brave boys. (
To Moore.
) It’s Tally-ho-the-Grinder, Hump!

Brodie. Treys! Death and the pit! How much have you got there?

Rivers. A cool forty-five.

Brodie. I play you thrice the lot.

Rivers. Who’s afraid?

Smith. Stand by, Badger!

Rivers. Cinq-ace.

Brodie. My turn now. (
He juggles in and uses the second pair of dice.
) Aces! Aces again! What’s this? (
Picking up dice.
) Sold!... You play false, you hound!

Rivers. You lie!

Brodie. In your teeth. (
Overturns table, and goes for him.
)

Moore. Here, none o’ that. (
They hold him back. Struggle.
)

Smith. Hold on, Deacon!

Brodie. Let me go. Hands off, I say! I’ll not touch him. (
Stands weighing dice in his hand.
) But as for that thieving whinger, Ainslie, I’ll cut his throat between this dark and to-morrow’s. To the bone. (
Addressing the company.
) Rogues, rogues, rogues! (
Singing without.
) Ha! what’s that?

Ainslie. It’s the psalm-singing up by at the Holy Weaver’s. And, O Deacon, if ye’re a Christian man —  —

The Psalm without: —

Brodie. I think I’ll go. “My son the Deacon was aye regular at kirk.” If the old man could see his son, the Deacon! I think I’ll —  — . Ay, who
shall
stand? There’s the rub! And forgiveness, too? There’s a long word for you! I learnt it all lang syne, and now ... hell and ruin are on either hand of me, and the devil has me by the leg. “My son, the Deacon...!” Eh, God! but there’s no fool like an old fool! (
Becoming conscious of the others.
) Rogues!

Smith. Take my arm, Deacon.

Brodie. Down, dog, down! (Stay and be drunk with your equals.) Gentlemen and ladies, I have already cursed you pretty heavily. Let me do myself the pleasure of wishing you — a very — good evening. (
As he goes out, Hunt, who has been staggering about in the crowd, falls on a settle, as about to sleep.
)

END OF THE FIRST ACT

ACT II

TABLEAU IV

Evil and Good

The Stage represents the Deacon’s workshop; benches, shavings, tools, boards, and so forth. Doors, C., on the street, and L., into the house. Without, church bells; not a chime, but a slow, broken tocsin
.

SCENE I

Brodie (
solus
). My head! my head! It’s the sickness of the grave. And those bells go on!... go on ... inexorable as death and judgment. (There they go; the trumpets of respectability, sounding encouragement to the world to do and spare not, and not to be found out. Found out! And to those who are they toll as when a man goes to the gallows.) Turn where I will are pitfalls hell-deep. Mary and her dowry; Jean and her child — my child; the dirty scoundrel Moore; my uncle and his trust; perhaps the man from Bow Street. Debt, vice, cruelty, dishonour, crime; the whole canting, lying, double-dealing, beastly business! “My son the Deacon — Deacon of the Wrights!” My thoughts sicken at it. (O, the Deacon, the Deacon! Where’s a hat for the Deacon, where’s a hat for the Deacon’s headache? (
Searching.
) This place is a piggery. To be respectable and not to find one’s hat.)

SCENE II

To him, Jean, a baby in her shawl, C.

Jean (
who has entered silently during the Deacon’s last words
). It’s me, Wullie.

Brodie (
turning upon her
). What! You here again? (you again!)

Jean. Deacon, I’m unco vexed.

Brodie. Do you know what you do? Do you know what you risk? (Is there nothing — nothing! — will make you spare me this idiotic, wanton persecution?)

Jean. I was wrong to come yestreen; I ken that fine. But the day it’s different; I but to come the day, Deacon, though I ken fine it’s the Sabbath, and I think shame to be seen upon the streets.

Brodie. See here, Jean. You must go now. I’ll come to you to-night; I swear that. But now I’m for the road.

Jean. No’ till you’ve heard me, William Brodie. Do ye think I came to pleasure mysel’, where I’m no’ wanted? I’ve a pride o’ my ain.

Brodie. Jean, I am going now. If you please to stay on alone, in this house of mine, where I wish I could say you are welcome, stay. (
Going.
)

Jean. It’s the man frae Bow Street.

Brodie. Bow Street?

Jean. I thocht ye would hear me. Ye think little o’ me; but it’s mebbe a braw thing for you that I think sae muckle o’ William Brodie ... ill as it sets me.

Brodie. (You don’t know what is on my mind, Jennie, else you would forgive me.) Bow Street?

Jean. It’s the man Hunt: him that was here yestreen for the Fiscal.

Brodie. Hunt?

Jean. He kens a hantle. He.... Ye maunna be angered wi’ me, Wullie! I said what I shouldna.

Brodie. Said? Said what?

Jean. Just that ye were a guid frien’ to me. He made believe he was awfu’ sorry for me, because ye gied me nae siller; and I said, “Wha tellt him that?” and that he lee’d.

Brodie. God knows he did! What next?

Jean. He was that soft-spoken, butter wouldna melt in his mouth; and he keept aye harp, harpin’; but after that let-out, he got neither black nor white frae me. Just that ae word and nae mair; and at the hinder end he just speired straucht out, whaur it was ye got your siller frae.

Brodie. Where I got my siller?

Jean. Ay, that was it. “You ken,” says he.

Brodie. Did he? and what said you?

Jean. I couldna think on naething, but just that he was a gey and clever gentleman.

Brodie. You should have said I was in trade, and had a good business. That’s what you should have said. That’s what you would have said had you been worth your salt. But it’s blunder, blunder, outside and in (upstairs, down-stairs, and in my lady’s chamber). You women! Did he see Smith?

Jean. Ay, and kennt him.

Brodie. Damnation! —  — No, I’m not angry with you, but you see what I’ve to endure for you. Don’t cry. (Here’s the devil at the door, and we must bar him out as best we can.)

Jean. God’s truth, ye are nae vexed wi’ me?

Brodie. God’s truth, I am grateful to you. How is the child? Well? That’s right. (
Peeping.
) Poor wee laddie! He’s like you, Jean.

Jean. I thocht he was liker you.

Brodie. Is he? Perhaps he is. Ah, Jeannie, you must see and make him a better man than his father.

Jean. Eh man, Deacon, the proud wumman I’ll be gin he’s only half sae guid.

Brodie. Well, well, if I win through this, we’ll see what we can dae for him between us. (
Leading her out, C.
) And now; go — go — go.

Lawson (
without L.
). I ken the way, I ken the way.

Jean (
starting to door
). It’s the Fiscal; I’m awa. (Brodie, L.)

SCENE III