plays [12]
drunk to play, sir?
MOORE. You hold your jaw; that's what's the matter with you.
AINSLIE. He's waur nor he looks. He's knockit the box aff the
table.
SMITH (PICKING UP BOX). That's the way we does it. Ten to one
and no takers!
BRODIE. Deuces again! More liquor, Mother Clarke!
SMITH. Hooray our side! (POUTING OUT.) George and his pal for
ever!
BRODIE. Deuces again, by heaven! Another?
RIVERS. Done!
BRODIE. Ten more; money's made to go. On with you!
RIVERS. Sixes.
BRODIE. Deuce-ace. Death and judgment? Double or quits?
RIVERS. Drive on! Sixes.
SMITH. Fire away, brave boys! (TO MOORE) It's Tally-ho-the-
Grinder, Hump!
BRODIE. Treys! Death and the pit! How much have you got there?
RIVERS. A cool forty-five.
BRODIE. I play you thrice the lot.
RIVERS. Who's afraid?
SMITH. Stand by, Badger!
RIVERS. Cinq-ace.
BRODIE. My turn now. (HE JUGGLES IN AND USES THE SECOND PAIR OF
DICE.) Aces! Aces again! What's this? (PICKING UP DICE.)
Sold! . . . You play false, you hound!
RIVERS. You lie!
BRODIE. In your teeth. (OVERTURNS TABLE, AND GOES FOR HIM.)
MOORE. Here, none o' that. (THEY HOLD HIM BACK. STRUGGLE.)
SMITH. Hold on, Deacon!
BRODIE. Let me go. Hands off, I say! I'll not touch him.
(STANDS WEIGHING DICE IN HIS HAND.) But as for that thieving
whinger, Ainslie, I'll cut his throat between this dark and
to-morrow's. To the bone. (ADDRESSING THE COMPANY.) Rogues,
rogues, rogues! (SINGING WITHOUT.) Ha! what's that?
AINSLIE. It's the psalm-singing up by at the Holy Weaver's. And
O Deacon, if ye're a Christian man -
THE PSALM WITHOUT:- 'Lord, who shall stand, if Thou, O Lord,
Should'st mark iniquity? But yet with Thee forgiveness is, That
feared Thou may'st be.'
BRODIE. I think I'll go. 'My son the Deacon was aye regular at
kirk.' If the old man could see his son, the Deacon! I think
I'll - Ay, who SHALL stand? There's the rub! And forgiveness,
too? There's a long word for you! I learnt it all lang syne,
and now . . . hell and ruin are on either hand of me, and the
devil has me by the leg. 'My son, the Deacon . . . !' Eh, God!
but there's no fool like an old fool! (BECOMING CONSCIOUS OF THE
OTHERS.) Rogues!
SMITH. Take my arm, Deacon.
BRODIE. Down, dog, down! [Stay and be drunk with your equals.]
Gentlemen and ladies, I have already cursed you pretty heavily.
Let me do myself the pleasure of wishing you - a very - good
evening. (AS HE GOES OUT, HUNT, WHO HAS BEEN STAGGERING ABOUT IN
THE CROWD, FALLS ON A SETTLE, AS ABOUT TO SLEEP.)
ACT-DROP.
ACT II.
TABLEAU. EVIL AND GOOD
The Stage represents the Deacon's workshop; benches, shavings,
tools, boards, and so forth. Doors, C. on the street, and L.
into the house. Without, church bells; not a chime, but a slow
brokentocsin.
SCENE I
BRODIE (SOLUS). My head! my head! It's the sickness of the
grave. And those bells go on . . . go on! . . . inexorable as
death and judgment. [There they go; the trumpets of
respectability, sounding encouragement to the world to do and
spare not, and not to be found out. Found out! And to those who
are they toll as when a man goes to the gallows.] Turn where I
will are pitfalls hell-deep. Mary and her dowry; Jean and her
child - my child; the dirty scoundrel Moore; my uncle and his
trust; perhaps the man from Bow Street. Debt, vice, cruelty,
dishonour, crime; the whole canting, lying, double-dealing,
beastly business! 'My son the Deacon - Deacon of the Wrights!'
My thoughts sicken at it. [Oh the Deacon, the Deacon! Where's a
hat for the Deacon? where's a hat for the Deacon's headache?
(SEARCHING). This place is a piggery. To be respectable and not
to find one's hat.)
SCENE II
To him, JEAN, a baby in her shawl. C.
JEAN (WHO HAS ENTERED SILENTLY DURING THE DEACON'S LAST WORDS).
It's me, Wullie.
BRODIE (TURNING UPON HER). What! You here again? [you again!]
JEAN. Deacon, I'm unco vexed.
BRODIE. Do you
MOORE. You hold your jaw; that's what's the matter with you.
AINSLIE. He's waur nor he looks. He's knockit the box aff the
table.
SMITH (PICKING UP BOX). That's the way we does it. Ten to one
and no takers!
BRODIE. Deuces again! More liquor, Mother Clarke!
SMITH. Hooray our side! (POUTING OUT.) George and his pal for
ever!
BRODIE. Deuces again, by heaven! Another?
RIVERS. Done!
BRODIE. Ten more; money's made to go. On with you!
RIVERS. Sixes.
BRODIE. Deuce-ace. Death and judgment? Double or quits?
RIVERS. Drive on! Sixes.
SMITH. Fire away, brave boys! (TO MOORE) It's Tally-ho-the-
Grinder, Hump!
BRODIE. Treys! Death and the pit! How much have you got there?
RIVERS. A cool forty-five.
BRODIE. I play you thrice the lot.
RIVERS. Who's afraid?
SMITH. Stand by, Badger!
RIVERS. Cinq-ace.
BRODIE. My turn now. (HE JUGGLES IN AND USES THE SECOND PAIR OF
DICE.) Aces! Aces again! What's this? (PICKING UP DICE.)
Sold! . . . You play false, you hound!
RIVERS. You lie!
BRODIE. In your teeth. (OVERTURNS TABLE, AND GOES FOR HIM.)
MOORE. Here, none o' that. (THEY HOLD HIM BACK. STRUGGLE.)
SMITH. Hold on, Deacon!
BRODIE. Let me go. Hands off, I say! I'll not touch him.
(STANDS WEIGHING DICE IN HIS HAND.) But as for that thieving
whinger, Ainslie, I'll cut his throat between this dark and
to-morrow's. To the bone. (ADDRESSING THE COMPANY.) Rogues,
rogues, rogues! (SINGING WITHOUT.) Ha! what's that?
AINSLIE. It's the psalm-singing up by at the Holy Weaver's. And
O Deacon, if ye're a Christian man -
THE PSALM WITHOUT:- 'Lord, who shall stand, if Thou, O Lord,
Should'st mark iniquity? But yet with Thee forgiveness is, That
feared Thou may'st be.'
BRODIE. I think I'll go. 'My son the Deacon was aye regular at
kirk.' If the old man could see his son, the Deacon! I think
I'll - Ay, who SHALL stand? There's the rub! And forgiveness,
too? There's a long word for you! I learnt it all lang syne,
and now . . . hell and ruin are on either hand of me, and the
devil has me by the leg. 'My son, the Deacon . . . !' Eh, God!
but there's no fool like an old fool! (BECOMING CONSCIOUS OF THE
OTHERS.) Rogues!
SMITH. Take my arm, Deacon.
BRODIE. Down, dog, down! [Stay and be drunk with your equals.]
Gentlemen and ladies, I have already cursed you pretty heavily.
Let me do myself the pleasure of wishing you - a very - good
evening. (AS HE GOES OUT, HUNT, WHO HAS BEEN STAGGERING ABOUT IN
THE CROWD, FALLS ON A SETTLE, AS ABOUT TO SLEEP.)
ACT-DROP.
ACT II.
TABLEAU. EVIL AND GOOD
The Stage represents the Deacon's workshop; benches, shavings,
tools, boards, and so forth. Doors, C. on the street, and L.
into the house. Without, church bells; not a chime, but a slow
brokentocsin.
SCENE I
BRODIE (SOLUS). My head! my head! It's the sickness of the
grave. And those bells go on . . . go on! . . . inexorable as
death and judgment. [There they go; the trumpets of
respectability, sounding encouragement to the world to do and
spare not, and not to be found out. Found out! And to those who
are they toll as when a man goes to the gallows.] Turn where I
will are pitfalls hell-deep. Mary and her dowry; Jean and her
child - my child; the dirty scoundrel Moore; my uncle and his
trust; perhaps the man from Bow Street. Debt, vice, cruelty,
dishonour, crime; the whole canting, lying, double-dealing,
beastly business! 'My son the Deacon - Deacon of the Wrights!'
My thoughts sicken at it. [Oh the Deacon, the Deacon! Where's a
hat for the Deacon? where's a hat for the Deacon's headache?
(SEARCHING). This place is a piggery. To be respectable and not
to find one's hat.)
SCENE II
To him, JEAN, a baby in her shawl. C.
JEAN (WHO HAS ENTERED SILENTLY DURING THE DEACON'S LAST WORDS).
It's me, Wullie.
BRODIE (TURNING UPON HER). What! You here again? [you again!]
JEAN. Deacon, I'm unco vexed.
BRODIE. Do you