Brodie (with bottle and glasses). Heres your old friend, Procurator. Help yourself, Leslie. Oh no, thank you, not any for me. You strong people have the advantage of me there. With my attacks, you know, I must always live a bit of a hermits life.
Lawson. Od, man, thats fine; thats health o mind and body. Mr. Leslie, heres to you, sir. Od, its harder to end than to begin wi stuff like that.
SCENE III To these, Smith and Jean, CSmith. Is the king of the castle in, please?
Lawson (aside). Lords sake, its Smith!
Brodie (to Smith). I beg your pardon?
Smith. I beg yours, sir. If you please, sir, is Mr. Brodie at home, sir?
Brodie. What do you want with him, my man?
Smith. Ive a message for him, sir, a job of work, sir!
Brodie (to Smith; referring to Jean). And who is this?
Jean. I am here for the Procurator, about my rent. Theres nae offence, I hope, sir.
Lawson. Its just an honest wife I let a flat to in Libbertons Wynd. Itll be for the rent?
Jean. Just that, sir.
Lawson. Weel, ye can just bide here a wee, and Ill step down the road to my office wi ye. (Exeunt Brodie, Lawson, Leslie, C.)
SCENE IVSmith, Jean Watt, Old BrodieSmith (bowing them out). Your humble and most devoted servant, George Smith, Esquire. And so this is the garding, is it? And this is the style of horticulture? Ha, it is! (At the mirror.) In that case Georges mother bids him bind his hair. (Kisses his hand.) My dearest Duchess, (To Jean.) I say, Jean, theres a good deal of difference between this sort of thing and the way we does it in Libbertons Wynd.
Jean. I daursay. And what wad ye expeck?
Smith. Ah, Jean, if youd cast affections glance on this poor but honest soger! George Lord S. is not the nobleman to cut the object of his flame before the giddy throng; nor to keep her boxed up in an old mouse-trap, while he himself is revelling in purple splendours like these. He didnt know you, Jean: he was afraid to. Do you call that a man? Try a man that is.
Jean. Geordie Smith, ye ken vera weel Ill tak nane o that sort of talk frae you. And what kind o a man are you to even yoursel to the likes o him? Hes a gentleman.
Smith. Ah, aint he just! And dont he live up to it? I say, Jean, feel of this chair.
Jean. My! look at yon bed!
Smith. The carpet too! Axminster, by the bones of Oliver Cromwell!
Jean. What a expense!
Smith. Hey, brandy! The deuce of the grape! Have a toothful, Mrs. Watt. [(Sings)
Says Bacchus to Venus,
Theres brandy between us,
And the cradle of love is the bowl, the bowl!]
Jean. Nane for me, I thank ye, Mr. Smith.
Smith. What brings the man from stuff like this to rotgut and spittoons at Mother Clarkes; but ah, George, you was born for a higher spear! And so was you, Mrs. Watt, though I say it that shouldnt. (Seeing Old Brodie for the first time.) Hullo! its a man!
Jean. Thonder in the chair. (They go to look at him, their backs to the door.)
George. Is he alive?
Jean. I think theres something wrong with him.
George. And how was you to-morrow, my valued old gentleman, eh?
Jean. Dinna mak a mock o him, Geordie.
Old Brodie. My son the Deacon Deacon of his trade.
Jean. Hell be his feyther. (Hunt appears at door C., and stands looking on.)
Smith. The Deacons old man! Well, he couldnt expect to have his quiver full of sich, could he, Jean? (To Old Brodie.) Ah, my Christian soldier, if you had, the world would have been more varigated. Mrs. Deakin (to Jean), let me introduce you to your dear papa.
Jean. Think shame to yoursel! This is the Deacons house; you and me shouldna be here by rights; and if we are, its the least we can do to behave dacent. [This is no the way yell mak me like ye.]
Smith. All right, Duchess. Dont be angry.
SCENE V To these, Hunt, C. (He steals down, and claps each one suddenly on the shoulder.)Hunt. Is there a gentleman here by the name of Mr. Procurator-Fiscal?
Smith (pulling himself together). D n it, Jerry, what do you mean by startling an old customer like that?
Hunt. What, my brave un? Youre the very party I was looking for!
Smith. Theres nothing out against me this time?
Hunt. Ill take odds there is. But it aint in my hands. (To Old Brodie.) Youll excuse me, old genelman?
Smith. Ah, well, if its all in the way of friendship!.. I say, Jean, [you and me had best be on the toddle.] We shall be late for church.
Hunt. Lady, George?
Smith. Its a yes, its a lady. Come along, Jean.
Hunt. A Mrs. Deacon, I believe? [That was the name, I think?] Wont Mrs. Deacon let me have a queer at her phiz?
Jean (unmuffling). Ive naething to be ashamed of. My names Mistress Watt; Im weel kennt at the Wynd heid; theres naething again me.
Hunt. No, to be sure, there aint; and why clap on the blinkers, my dear? You that has a face like a rose, and with a cove like Jerry Hunt that might be your born father? [But all this dont tell me about Mr. Procurator-Fiscal.]
George (in an agony). Jean, Jean, we shall be late. (Going with attempted swagger.) Well, ta-ta, Jerry.
SCENE VI To these, C, Brodie and Lawson (greatcoat, muffler, lantern)Lawson (from the door). Come your ways, Mistress Watt.
Jean. Thats the Fiscal himsel.
Hunt. Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, I believe?
Lawson. Thats me. Wholl you be?
Hunt. Hunt the Runner, sir; Hunt from Bow Street; English warrant.
Lawson. Theres a place for a things, officer. Come your ways to my office, with me and this guid wife.
Brodie (aside to Jean, as she passes with a curtsey). How dare you be here? (Aloud to Smith.) Wait you here, my man.
Smith. If you please, sir. (Brodie goes out, C.)
SCENE VIIBrodie, SmithBrodie. What the devil brings you here?
Smith. Confound it, Deakin! Not rusty?
[Brodie. And not you only: Jean too! Are you mad?
Smith. Why, you dont mean to say, Deakin, that you have been stodged by G. Smith, Esquire? Plummy old George?]
Brodie. There was my uncle the Procurator
Smith. The Fiscal? He dont count.
Brodie. What dye mean?
Smith. Well, Deakin, since Fiscal Lawsons Nunkey Lawson, and its all in the family way, I dont mind telling you that Nunkey Lawsons a customer of Georges. We give Nunkey Lawson a good deal of brandy G. S. and Co.s celebrated Nantz.
Brodie. What! does he buy that smuggled trash of yours?
Smith. Well, we dont call it smuggled in the trade, Deakin. Its a wink, and King Georges picter between G. S. and the Nunks.