The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson - Роберт Льюис Стивенсон 6 стр.

Smith. Its as easy as my eye, Deakin. Slink Ainslie got letting the merry glass go round, and didnt know the right bones from the wrong. Thats hall.

Brodie. [What clumsy liars you are!

Smith. In boyhoods hour, Deakin, he were called Old Truthful. Little did he think ]

Brodie. What is your errand?

Moore. Business.

Smith. After the melancholy games of last night, Deakin, which no one deplores so much as George Smith, we thought wed trot round didnt us, Hump? and see how you and your bankers was a-getting on.

Brodie. Will you tell me your errand?

Moore. Youre dry, aint you?

Brodie. Am I?

Moore. We aint none of us got a stiver, thats wots the matter with us.

Brodie. Is it?

Moore. Ay, strike me, it is! And wot weve got to is to put up the Excise.

Smith. Its the last plant in the shrubbery Deakin, and its breaking George the gardeners heart, it is. We really must!

Brodie. Must we?

Moore. Musts the thundering word. I mean business, I do.

Brodie. Thats lucky. I dont.

Moore. O, you dont, dont you?

Brodie. I do not.

Moore. Then praps youll tell us wot you thundering well do?

Brodie. What do I mean? I mean that you and that merry-andrew shall walk out of this room and this house. Do you suppose, you blockheads, that I am blind? Im the Deacon, am I not? Ive been your king and your commander. Ive led you, and fed you, and thought for you with this head. And you think to steal a march upon a man like me? I see you through and through [I know you like the clock]; I read your thoughts like print. Brodie, you thought, has money, and wont do the job. Therefore, you thought, we must rook him to the heart. And therefore, you put up your idiot cockney. And now you come round, and dictate, and think sure of your Excise? Sure? Are you sure Ill let you pack with a whole skin? By my soul, but Ive a mind to pistol you like dogs. Out of this! Out, I say, and soil my home no more.

Moore (sitting). Now look ere. Mr. bloody Deacon Brodie, you see this ere chair of yours, dont you? Wot I ses to you is, here I am, I ses, and here I mean to stick. Thats my motto. Who the devil are you to do the high and mighty? You make all you can out of us, dont you? and when one of your plants get cross, you order us out of the ken? Muck! Thats wot I think of you. Muck! Dont you get coming the nob over me, Mr. Deacon Brodie, or Ill smash you.

Brodie. You will?

Moore. Ay will I. If I thundering well swing for it. And as for clearing out? Muck! Here I am, and here I stick. Clear out? You try it on. Im a man, I am.

Brodie. This is plain speaking.

Moore. Plain? Wot about your father as cant walk? Wot about your fine-madam sister? Wot about the stone-jug, and the dock, and the rope in the open street? Is that plain? If it aint, you let me know, and Ill spit it out so as itll raise the roof off this ere ken. Plain! Im that coves master, and Ill make it plain enough for him.

Brodie. What do you want of me?

Moore. Wot do I want of you? Now you speak sense. Leslies is wot I want of you. The Excise is wot I want of you. Leslies to-night and the Excise to-morrow. Thats wot I want of you, and wot I thundering well mean to get.

Brodie. Damn you!

Moore. Amen. But youve got your orders.

Brodie (with pistol). Orders? hey? orders?

Smith (between them). Deacon, Deacon!  Badger, are you mad?

Moore. Muck! Thats my motto. Wot I ses is, has he got his orders or has he not? Thats wots the matter with him.

Smith. Deacon, half a tick. Humphrey, Im only a light weight, and you fight at twelve stone ten, but Im damned if Im going to stand still and see you hitting a pal when hes down.

Moore. Muck! Thats wot I think of you.

Smith. Hes a cut above us, aint he? He never sold his backers, did he? We couldnt have done without him, could we? You dry up about his old man, and his sister; and dont go on hitting a pal when hes knocked out of time and cannot hit back, for, damme, I will not stand it.

Moore. Amen to you. But Im cock of this here thundering walk, and that coves got his orders.

Brodie (putting pistol on bench). I give in. I will do your work for you once more. Leslies to-night and the Excise to-morrow. If that is enough, if you have no more.. orders, you may count it as done.

Moore. Fen larks. No rotten shirking, mind.

Brodie. I have passed you my word. And now you have said what you came to say, you must go. I have business here; but two hours hence I am at your.. orders. Where shall I await you?

Moore. What about that womans place of yours?

Brodie. Your will is my law.

Moore. Thats good enough. Now, Dock.

Smith. Bye-bye, my William. Dont forget.

Brodie. Trust me. No man forgets his vice, you dogs, or forgives it either. It must be done: Leslies to-night and the Excise to-morrow. It shall be done. This settles it. They used to fetch and carry for me, and now.. Ive licked their boots, have I? Im their man, their tool, their chattel. Its the bottom rung of the ladder of shame. I sound with my foot, and theres nothing underneath but the black emptiness of damnation. Ah, Deacon, Deacon, and so this is where youve been travelling all these years; and its for this that you learned French! The gallows.. God help me, it begins to dog me like my shadow. Theres a step to take! And the jerk upon your spine! Hows a man to die with a night-cap on? Ive done with this. Over yonder, across the great ocean, is a new land, with new characters, and perhaps new lives. The sun shines, and the bells ring, and its a place where men live gladly; and the Deacon himself can walk without terror, and begin again like a new-born child. It must be good to see day again and not to fear; it must be good to be ones self with all men. Happy like a child, wise like a man, free like Gods angels.. should I work these hands off and eat crusts, there were a life to make me young and good again. And its only over the sea! O man, you have been blind, and now your eyes are opened. It was half a lifes nightmare, and now you are awake. Up, Deacon, up, its hope thats at the window! Mary! Mary! Mary!

(Brodie has fallen into a chair, with his face upon the table. Enter Mary, by the side door pushing her fathers chair. She is supposed to have advanced far enough for stage purposes before Brodie is aware of her. He starts up, and runs to her.)

Brodie. Look up, my lass, look up, and be a woman! I.. O kiss me, Mary I give me a kiss for my good news.

Mary. Good news, Will? Is it changed?

Brodie. Changed? Why, the worlds a different colour! It was night, and now its broad day and I trust myself again. You must wait, dear, wait, and I must work and work; and before the week is out, as sure as God sees me, Ill have made you happy. O you may think me broken, hounds, but the Deacons not the man to be run down; trust him, he shall turn a corner yet, and leave you snarling! And you, Poll, you. Ive done nothing for you yet; but, please God, Ill make your life a life of gold; and wherever I am, Ill have a part in your happiness, and youll know it, by heaven! and bless me.

Mary. O Willie, look at him; I think he hears you, and is trying to be glad with us.

Brodie. My son Deacon better man than I was.

Brodie. O for Gods sake, hear him!

Mary. O Willie, look at him; I think he hears you, and is trying to be glad with us.

Brodie. My son Deacon better man than I was.

Brodie. O for Gods sake, hear him!

Mary. He is quite happy, Will, and so am I.. so am I.

Brodie. Hear me, Mary. This is a big moment in our two lives. I swear to you by the father here between us that it shall not be fault of mine if this thing fails; if this ship founders you have set your hopes in. I swear it by our father; I swear it by Gods judgments.

Mary. I want no oaths, Will.

Brodie. No, but I do. And prayers, Mary, prayers. Pray night and day upon your knees. I must move mountains.

Old Brodie. A wise son maketh maketh

Brodie. A glad father? And does your son, the Deacon, make you glad? O heaven of heavens, if I were a good man.

ACT III

TABLEAU V.

Kings Evidence

The Stage represents a public place in Edinburgh.

(They loiter in L., and stand looking about as for somebody not there. Smith is hat in hand to Jean; Moore as usual.)

Moore. Wot did I tell you? Is he ere, or aint he? Now, then. Slink by name and Slink by nature, thats wots the matter with him.

Jean. Hell no be lang; hes regular enough, if that was a.

Moore. Id regular him; Id break his back.

Smith. Badger, you brute, you hang on to the lessons of your dancing-master. None but the genteel deserves the fair; does they, Duchess?

Moore. O rot! Did I insult the blowen? Wots the matter with me is Slink Ainslie.

Smith. All right, old Crossed-in-love. Give him forty winks, and hell turn up as fresh as clean sawdust and as respectable as a new Bible.

Moore. Thats right enough; but I aint agoing to stand here all day for him. Im for a drop of something short, I am. You tell him I showed you that (showing his doubled fist). Thats wots the matter with him. (He lurches out, R.)

Smith (critically). No, Duchess, he has not good manners.

Jean. Ay, hes an impident man.

Smith. So he is, Jean; and for the matter of that he aint the only one.

Jean. Geordie, I want nae mair o your nonsense, mind.

Smith. Theres our old particular the Deacon, now. Why is he ashamed of a lovely woman? Thats not my idea of the Young Chevalier, Jean. If I had luck, we should be married, and retire to our estates in the country, shouldnt us? and go to church and be happy, like the nobility and gentry.

Jean. Geordie Smith, div ye mean yed mairry me?

Smith. Mean it? What else has ever been the umble petition of your honest but well-meaning friend, Roman, and fellow-countryman? I know the Deacons your man, and I know hes a cut above G. S.; but he wont last, Jean, and I shall.

Jean. Ay, Im muckle taen up wi him; wha could help it?

Smith. Well, and my sort dont grow on apple-trees either.

Jean. Yere a fine, cracky, neebourly body, Geordie, if ye wad just let me be.

Smith. I know I aint a Scotchman born.

Jean. I dinna think sae muckle the waur o ye even for that; if ye would just let me be.

[Hunt (entering behind, aside). Are they thick? Anyhow, its a second chance.]

Smith. But he wont last, Jean, and when he leaves you, you come to me. Is that your taste in pastry? Thats the kind of harticle that I present.

Hunt (surprising them as in Tableau I.). Why, youre the very parties I was looking for!

Jean. Mercy me!

Smith. Damn it, Jerry, this is unkind.

Hunt. [Now this is what I call a picter of good fortune.] Aint it strange I should have dropped across you comfortable and promiscuous like this?

Jean (stolidly). I hope yere middling weel, Mr. Hunt? (Going.) Mr. Smith!

Smith. Mrs. Watt, maam! (Going.)

Hunt. Hold hard, George. Speaking as one ladys man to another, turn abouts fair play. Youve had your confab, and now Im going to have mine. [Not that Ive done with you; you stand by and wait.] Ladies first, George, ladies first; thats the size of it. (To Jean, aside.) Now, Mrs. Watt, I take it you aint a natural fool?

Jean. And thank ye kindly, Mr. Hunt.

Smith (interfering). Jean.. !

Hunt (keeping him off). Half a tick, George. (To Jean.) Mrs. Watt, Ive a warrant in my pocket. One, two, three: will you peach?

Jean. Whaten kind of a wordll that be?

Smith. Mum it is, Jean!

Hunt. When youve done dancing, George! (To Jean.) It aint a pretty expression, my dear, I own it. Will you blow the gaff? is perhaps more tenderer.

Jean. I think yeve a real strange way o expressin yoursel.

Hunt (to Jean). I cant waste time on you, my girl. Its now or never. Will you turn kings evidence?

Jean. I think yell have made a mistake, like.

Hunt. Well, Im..! (Separating them.) [No, not yet; dont push me.] Georges turn now. (To George.) George, Ive a warrant in my pocket.

Smith. As per usual, Jerry?

Hunt. Now I want kings evidence.

Smith. Ah! so you came a cropper with her, Jerry. Pride had a fall.

Hunt. A free pardon and fifty shiners down.

Smith. A free pardon, Jerry?

Hunt. Dont I tell you so?

Smith. And fifty down? fifty?

Hunt. On the nail.

Smith. So you came a cropper with her, and then you tried it on with me?

Hunt. I suppose you mean youre a born idiot?

Smith. What I mean is, Jerry, that youve broke my heart. I used to look up to you like a party might to Julius Cæsar. One more of boyhoods dreams gone pop. (Enter Moore, L.)

Hunt (to both). Come, then, Ill take the pair, and be damned to you. Free pardon to both, fifty down and the Deacon out of the way. I dont care for you commoners, its the Deacon I want.

Jean (looking off stolidly). I think the kirks are scalin. There seems to be mair people in the streets.

Hunt. O thats the way, is it? Do you know that I can hang you, my woman, and your fancy man a well?

Jean. I daur say ye would like fine, Mr. Hunt; and heres my service to you. (Going.)

Hunt. George, dont you be a tomfool, anyway. Think of the blowen here, and have brains for two.

Smith (going). Ah, Jerry, if you knew anything, how different you would talk! (They go together, R.)

Hunt. Half a tick, Badger. Youre a man of parts, you are; youre solid, youre a true-born Englishman; you aint a Jerry-go-Nimble like him. Do you know what your pal the Deacons worth to you? Fifty golden Georges and a free pardon. No questions asked, and no receipts demanded. What do you say? Is it a deal?

Moore (as to himself). Muck. (He goes out, R.)