The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson - Роберт Льюис Стивенсон 2 стр.

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.

Smith. 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.)

Smith (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)

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.

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.

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.)

Brodie. 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.

Brodie. Gad! thats worth knowing. O Procurator, Procurator, is there no such thing as virtue? [Allons! Its enough to cure a man of vice for this world and the other.] But hark you hither, Smith; this is all damned well in its way, but it dont explain what brings you here.

Smith. Ive trapped a pigeon for you.

Brodie. Cant you pluck him yourself?

Smith. Not me. Hes too flash in the feather for a simple nobleman like George Lord Smith. Its the great Capting Starlight, fresh in from York. [Hes exercised his noble art all the way from here to London. Stand and deliver, stap my vitals!] And the north road is no bad lay, Deakin.

Brodie. Flush?

Smith (mimicking). The graziers, split me! A mail, stap my vitals! and seven demned farmers, by the Lard

Brodie. By Gad!

Smith. Good for trade, aint it? And we thought, Deakin, the Badger and me, that coins being ever on the vanish, and you not over sweet on them there lovely little locks at Leslies, and them there bigger and uglier marine stores at the Excise Office.

Brodie (impassible). Go on.

Smith. Worse luck!.. We thought, me and the Badger, you know, that maybe youd like to exercise your helbow with our free and galliant horseman.

Brodie. The old move, I presume? the double set of dice?

Smith. Thats the rig, Deakin. What you drop on the square you pick up again on the cross. [Just as you did with G. S. and Co.s own agent and correspondent, the Admiral from Nantz.] You always was a neat hand with the bones, Deakin.

Brodie. The usual terms, I suppose?

Smith. The old discount, Deakin. Ten in the pound for you, and the rest for your jolly companions every one. [Thats the way we does it!]

Brodie. Who has the dice?

Smith. Our mutual friend, the Candleworm.

Brodie. You mean Ainslie?  We trust that creature too much, Geordie.

Smith. Hes all right, Marquis. He wouldnt lay a finger on his own mother. Why, hes no more guile in him than a set of sheeps trotters.

[Brodie. You think so? Then see he dont cheat you over the dice, and give you light for loaded. See to that, George, see to that; and you may count the Captain as bare as his last grazier.

Smith. The Black Flag for ever! Georgell trot him round to Mother Clarkes in two twos.] How longll you be?

Brodie. The time to lock up and go to bed, and Ill be with you. Can you find your way out?

Smith. Bloom on, my Sweet William, in peaceful array. Ta-ta.

Mary. O Willie, I am glad you did not go with them. I have something to tell you. If you knew how happy I am, you would clap your hands, Will. But come, sit you down there, and be my good big brother, and I will kneel here and take your hand. We must keep close to dad, and then he will feel happiness in the air. The poor old love, if we could only tell him! But I sometimes think his heart has gone to heaven already, and takes a part in all our joys and sorrows; and it is only his poor body that remains here, helpless and ignorant. Come, Will, sit you down, and ask me questions or guess that will be better, guess.

Brodie. Not to-night, Mary; not to-night. I have other fish to fry, and they wont wait.

Mary. Not one minute for your sister? One little minute for your little sister?

Brodie. Minutes are precious, Mary. I have to work for all of us, and the clock is always busy. They are waiting for me even now. Help me with the dads chair. And then to bed, and dream happy things. And to-morrow morning I will hear your news your good news; it must be good, you look so proud and glad. But to-night it cannot be.

Mary. I hate your business I hate all business. To think of chairs, and tables, and foot-rules, all dead and wooden and cold pieces of money with the Kings ugly head on them; and here is your sister, your pretty sister, if you please, with something to tell, which she would not tell you for the world, and would give the world to have you guess, and you wont?  Not you! For business! Fie, Deacon Brodie! But Im too happy to find fault with you.

Brodie. And me a Deacon, as the Procurator would say.

Mary. No such thing, sir! I am not a bit afraid of you nor a bit angry neither. Give me a kiss, and promise me hours and hours to-morrow morning.

Brodie. All day long to-morrow, if you like.

Mary. Business or none?

Brodie. Business or none, little sister! Ill make time, I promise you; and theres another kiss for surety. Come along. (They proceed to push out the chair, L.C.) The wine and wisdom of this evening have given me one of my headaches, and Im in haste for bed. Youll be good, wont you, and see they make no noise, and let me sleep my fill to-morrow morning till I wake?

Mary. Poor Will! How selfish I must have seemed! You should have told me sooner, and I wouldnt have worried you. Come along.

(She goes out, pushing chair.)

Brodie. Now for one of the Deacons headaches! Rogues all, rogues all! (Goes to clothes-press, and proceeds to change his coat.) On with the new coat and into the new life! Down with the Deacon and up with the robber! (Changing neck-band and ruffles.) Eh God! how still the house is! Theres something in hypocrisy after all. If we were as good as we seem, what would the world be? [The city has its vizard on, and we at night we are our naked selves. Trysts are keeping, bottles cracking, knives are stripping; and here is Deacon Brodie flaming forth the man of men he is!] How still it is!.. My father and Mary Well! the day for them, the night for me; the grimy cynical night that makes all cats grey, and all honesties of one complexion. Shall a man not have half a life of his own?  not eight hours out of twenty-four? [Eight shall he have should he dare the pit of Tophet.] (Takes out money.) Wheres the blunt? I must be cool to-night, or.. steady, Deacon, you must win; damn you, you must! You must win back the dowry that youve stolen, and marry your sister, and pay your debts, and gull the world a little longer! (As he blows out the lights.) The Deacons going to bed the poor sick Deacon! Allons! (Throws up the window, and looks out.) Only the stars to see me! (Addressing the bed.) Lie there, Deacon! sleep and be well to-morrow. As for me, Im a man once more till morning. (Gets out of the window.)

TABLEAU II.

Hunt the Runner

The Scene represents the Procurators Office.

[Lawson (entering). Step your ways in, Officer. (At wing.) Mr. Carfrae, give a chair to yon decent wife that cam in wi me. Nae news?

A voice without. Naething, sir.

Lawson (sitting). Weel, Officer, and what can I do for you?]

Hunt. Well, sir, as I was saying, Ive an English warrant for the apprehension of one Jemmy Rivers, alias Captain Starlight, now at large within your jurisdiction.

Lawson. Thatll be the highwayman?

Hunt. That same, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal. The Captains given me a hard hunt of it this time. I dropped on his marks first at Huntingdon, but he was away North, and I had to up and after him. I heard of him all along the York road, for hes a light hand on the pad, has Jemmy, and leaves his mark. [I missed him at York by four-and-twenty hours, and lost him for as much more. Then I picked him up again at Carlisle, and we made a race of it for the Border; but hed a better nag, and was best up in the road; so I had to wait till I ran him to earth in Edinburgh here and could get a new warrant.] So here I am, sir. They told me you were an active sort of gentleman, and Im an active man myself. And Sir John Fielding, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, hes an active gentleman, likewise, though hes blind as a himage, and he desired his compliments to you, [sir, and said that between us he thought wed do the trick].