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].
Lawson. Ay, hell be a fine man, Sir John. Hand me owre your papers, Hunt, and youll have your new warrant quam primum. And see here, Hunt, yell aiblins have a while to yoursel, and an active man, as ye say ye are, should aye be grinding grist. Were sair forfeuchen wi our burglaries. Non constat de personâ. We canna get a grip o the delinquents. Here is the Hue and Cry. Ye see there is a guid two hundred pounds for ye.
Hunt. Well, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal [I aint a rich man, and two hundreds two hundred. Thereby, sir], I dont mind telling you Ive had a bit of a worry at it already. You see, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, I had to look into a ken to-night about the Captain, and an old cock always likes to be sure of his walk; so I got one of your Scotch officers him as was so polite as to show me round to Mr. Brodies to give me full particulars about the ouse, and the flash companions that use it. In his list I drop on the names of two old lambs of my own; and I put it to you, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, as a genleman as knows the world, if whats a black sheep in London is likely or not to be keeping school in Edinburgh?
Lawson. Coelum non animum. A just observe.
Hunt. Ill give it a thought, sir, and see if I cant kill two birds with one stone. Talking of which, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, Id like to have a bit of a confab with that nice young woman as came to pay her rent.
Lawson. Hunt, thats a very decent woman.
Hunt. And a very decent woman may have mighty queer pals, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal. Lord love you, sir, I dont know what the profession would do without em!
Lawson. Yere vera richt, Hunt. An active and a watchful officer. Ill send her in till ye.
SCENE IIHunt (solus)Two hundred pounds reward. Curious thing. One burglary after another, and these Scotch blockheads without a man to show for it. Jock runs east, and Sawney cuts west; everythings at a deadlock; and they go on calling themselves thief-catchers! [By jingo, Ill show them how we do it down South! Well, Ive worn out a good deal of saddle leather over Jemmy Rivers; but heres for new breeches if you like.] Lets have another queer at the list. (Reads.) Humphrey Moore, otherwise Badger; aged forty, thick-set, dark, close-cropped; has been a prize-fighter; no apparent occupation. Badgers an old friend of mine, George Smith, otherwise the Dook, otherwise Jingling Geordie; red-haired and curly, slight, flash; an old thimble-rig; has been a stroller; suspected of smuggling; an associate of loose women. G. S., Esquire, is another of my flock. Andrew Ainslie, otherwise Slink Ainslie; aged thirty-five; thin, white-faced, lank-haired; no occupation; has been in trouble for reset of theft and subornation of youth; might be useful as kings evidence. Thats an acquaintance to make. Jock Hamilton, otherwise Sweepie, and so on. [Willie MGlashan, hum yes, and so on, and so on.] Ha! heres the man I want. William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights, about thirty; tall, slim, dark; wears his own hair; is often at Clarkes, but seemingly for purposes of amusement only; [is nephew to the Procurator-Fiscal; is commercially sound, but has of late (it is supposed) been short of cash; has lost much at cock-fighting;] is proud, clever, of good repute, but is fond of adventures and secrecy, and keeps low company. Now, heres what I ask myself: heres this list of the family party that drop into Mother Clarkes; its been in the hands of these nincompoops for weeks, and Im the first to cry Queer Street! Two well-known cracksmen, Badger and the Dook! why, theres Jack in the Orchard at once. This here topsawyer work they talk about, of course thats a chalk above Badger and the Dook. But how about our Mohock-tradesman? Purposes of amusement! What next? Deacon of the Wrights? and wright in their damned lingo means a kind of carpenter, I fancy? Why, damme, its the mans trade! Ill look you up, Mr. William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights. As sure as my names Jerry Hunt, I wouldnt take one-ninety-nine in gold for my chance of that ere two hundred!
SCENE IIIHunt; to him Jean
Hunt. Well, my dear, and how about your gentleman friend now? How about Deacon Brodie?
Jean. I dinna ken your name, sir, nor yet whae ye are; but this is a very poor employ for ony gentleman it sets ill wi ony gentleman to cast my shame in my teeth.
Hunt. Lord love you, my dear, that aint my line of country. Suppose youre not married and churched a hundred thousand times, what odds to Jerry Hunt? Jerry, my Pamela Prue, is a cove as might be your parent; a cove renowned for the ladies friend [and hes dead certain to be on your side]. What I cant get over is this: heres this Mr. Deacon Brodie doing the genteel at home, and leaving a nice young oman like you as a cove may say to take it out on cold potatoes. Thats what I cant get over, Mrs. Watt. Im a family man myself; and I cant get over it.
Jean. And whae said that to ye? They leed whatever. I get naething but guid by him; and I had nae richt to gang to his house; and O, I just ken Ive been the ruin of him!
Hunt. Dont you take on, Mrs. Watt. Why, now I hear you piping up for him, I begin to think a lot of him myself. I like a cove to be open-handed and free.
Jean. Weel, sir, and hes a that.
Hunt. Well, that shows what a wicked world this is. Why, they told me . Well, well, heres the open and and the appy art. And how much, my dear speaking as a family man now, how much might your gentleman friend stand you in the course of a year?
Jean. Whats your wull?
Hunt. Thats a mighty fancy shawl, Mrs. Watt. [I should like to take its next-door neighbour to Mrs. Hunt in King Street, Common Garden.] Whats about the figure?
Jean. Its paid for. Ye can sweir to that.
Hunt. Yes, my dear, and so is King Georges crown; but I dont know what it cost, and I dont know where the blunt came from to pay for it.
Jean. Im thinking yell be a vera clever gentleman.
Hunt. So I am, my dear; and I like you none the worse for being artful yourself. But between friends now, and speaking as a family man
Jean. Ill be wishin ye a fine nicht. (Curtsies and goes out.)
SCENE IVHunt (solus)Hunt. Ah! thats it, is it? My fancy mans my ole delight, as we say in Bow Street. But which is the fancy man? George the Dock, or William the Deacon? One or both? (He winks solemnly.) Well, Jerry, my boy, heres your work cut out for you; but if you took one-nine-five for that ere little two hundred youd be a disgrace to the profession.
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?