TABLEAU III.
Mother Clarkes
SCENE IThe Stage represents a room of coarse and sordid appearance: settles, spittoons, etc.; sanded floor. A large table at back, where Ainslie, Hamilton, and others are playing cards and quarrelling. In front, L. and R. smaller tables, at one of which are Brodie and Moore, drinking. Mrs. Clarke and women serving.
Moore. Youve got the devils own luck, Deacon, thats what youve got.
Brodie. Luck! Dont talk of luck to a man like me! Why not say Ive the devils own judgment? Men of my stamp dont risk they plan, Badger; they plan, and leave chance to such cattle as you [and Jingling Geordie. They make opportunities before they take them].
Moore. Youre artful, aint you?
Brodie. Should I be here else? When I leave my house I leave an alibi behind me. Im ill ill with a jumping headache, and the fiends own temper. Im sick in bed this minute, and theyre all going about with the fear of death on them lest they should disturb the poor sick Deacon. [My bedroom door is barred and bolted like the bank you remember! and all the while the windows open, and the Deacons over the hills and far away. What do you think of me?]
Moore. Ive seen your sort before, I have.
Brodie. Not you. As for Leslies
Moore. That was a nick above you.
Brodie. Ay was it. He wellnigh took me red-handed; and that was better luck than I deserved. If Id not been drunk, and in my tantrums, youd never have got my hand within a thousand years of such a job.
Moore. Why not? Youre the King of the Cracksmen, aint you?
Brodie. Why not! He asks me why not! Gods, what a brain it is! Hark ye, Badger, its all very well to be King of the Cracksmen, as you call it; but however respectable he may have the misfortune to be, ones friend is ones friend, and as such must be severely let alone. What! shall there be no more honour among thieves than there is honesty among politicians? Why, man, if under heaven there were but one poor lock unpicked, and that the lock of one whose claret youve drunk, and who has babbled of woman across your own mahogany that lock, sir, were entirely sacred. Sacred as the Kirk of Scotland; sacred as King George upon his throne; sacred as the memory of Bruce and Bannockburn.
Moore. Oh, rot! I aint a parson, I aint; I never had no college education. Business is business. Thats wots the matter with me.
Brodie. Ay, so we said when you lost that fight with Newcastle Jemmy, and sent us all home poor men. That was a nick above you.
Moore. Newcastle Jemmy! Muck: thats my opinion of him: muck. Ill mop the floor up with him any day, if so be as you or any on em ll make it worth my while. If not, muck! Thats my motto. Wot I now ses is, about that ere crib at Leslies, wos I right, I ses? or wos I wrong? Thats wots the matter with you.
Brodie. You are both right and wrong. You dared me to do it. I was drunk; I was upon my mettle; and I as good as did it. More than that, black-guardly as it was, I enjoyed the doing. He is my friend. He had dined with me that day, and I felt like a man in a story. I climbed his wall, I crawled along his pantry roof, I mounted his window-sill. That one turn of my wrist you know it I and the casement was open. It was as dark as the pit, and I thought Id won my wager, when, phewt! down went something inside, and down went somebody with it. I made one leap, and was off like a rocket. It was my poor friend in person; and if hed caught and passed me on to the watchman under the window, I should have felt no viler rogue than I feel just now.
Moore. I spose he knows you pretty well by this time?
Brodie. Tis the worst of friendship. Here, Kirsty, fill these glasses. Moore, heres better luck and a more honourable plant! next time.
Moore. Deacon, I looks towards you. But it looks thundering like rotten eggs, dont it?
Brodie. I think not. I was masked, for one thing, and for another I was as quick as lightning. He suspects me so little that he dined with me this very afternoon.
Moore. Anyway, you aint game to try it on again, Ill lay odds on that. Once bit, twice shy. Thats your motto.
Brodie. Right again. Ill put my alibi to a better use. And, Badger, one word in your ear: theres no Newcastle Jemmy about me. Drop the subject, and for good, or I shall drop you. (He rises, and walks backwards and forwards, a little unsteadily. Then returns, and sits L., as before.)
SCENE II To these, Hunt, disguisedHe is disguised as a flying stationer with a patch over his eye. He sits at table opposite Brodies and is served with bread and cheese and beer.
Hamilton (from behind). The deevil tak the cairts!
Ainslie. Hoot, man, dinna blame the cairts.
Moore. Look here, Deacon, I mean business, I do. (Hunt looks up at the name of Deacon.)
Brodie. Gad, Badger, I never meet you that you do not. [You have a set of the most commercial intentions!] You make me blush.
Moore. Thats all blazing fine, that is! But wot I ses is, wot about the chips? Thats what I ses. Im after that thundering old Excise Office, I am. Thats my motto.
Brodie. Tis a very good motto, and at your lips, Badger, it kind of warms my heart. But its not mine.
Moore. Muck! why not?
Brodie. Tis too big and too dangerous. I shirk King George; he has a fat pocket, but he has a long arm. [You pilfer sixpence from him, and its three hundred reward for you, and a hue and cry from Tophet to the stars.] It ceases to be business; it turns politics, and Im not a politician, Mr. Moore. (Rising.) Im only Deacon Brodie.
Moore. All right. I can wait.
Brodie (seeing Hunt). Ha, a new face, and with a patch! [Theres 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) its not for sale. But its my own, and Ill drink your honours 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 as 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. Hes a patter-cove from Seven Dials. Hillo! whats all this?