plays [17]
SITS, AND MOTIONS HUNT TO DO LIKEWISE.)
HUNT. I was dead sure of it; and 'and upon 'art, Mr. Deacon, I
thank you. Now (CONSULTING POCKET-BOOK), did you ever meet a
certain George Smith?
BRODIE. The fellow they call Jingling Geordie? (HUNT NODS.)
Yes.
HUNT. Bad character.
BRODIE. Let us say . . . disreputable.
HUNT. Any means of livelihood?
BRODIE. I really cannot pretend to guess, I have met the
creature at cock-fights [which, as you know, are my weakness].
Perhaps he bets.
HUNT. [Mr. Deacon, from what I know of the gentleman, I should
say that if he don't - if he ain't open to any mortal thing - he
ain't the man I mean.] He used to be about with a man called
Badger Moore.
BRODIE. The boxer?
HUNT. That's him. Know anything of him?
BRODIE. Not much. I lost five pieces on him in a fight; and I
fear he sold his backers.
HUNT. Speaking as one admirer of the noble art to another, Mr.
Deacon, the losers always do. I suppose the Badger cockfights
like the rest of us?
BRODIE. I have met him in the pit.
HUNT. Well, it's a pretty sport. I'm as partial to a main as
anybody.
BRODIE. It's not an elegant taste, Mr. Hunt.
HUNT. It costs as much as though it was. And that reminds me,
speaking as one sportsman to another, Mr. Deacon, I was sorry to
hear that you've been dropping a hatful of money lately.
BRODIE. You are very good.
HUNT. Four hundred in three months, they tell me.
BRODIE. Ah!
HUNT. So they say, sir.
BRODIE. They have a perfect right to say so, Mr. Hunt.
HUNT. And you to do the other thing? Well, I'm a good hand at
keeping close myself.
BRODIE. I am not consulting you, Mr. Hunt; 'tis you who are
consulting me. And if there is nothing else (RISING) in which I
can pretend to serve you . . . ?
HUNT (RISING). That's about all, sir, unless you can put me on
to anything good in the way of heckle and spur? I'd try to look
in.
BRODIE. O, come, Mr. Hunt, if you have nothing to do, frankly
and flatly I have. This is not the day for such a conversation;
and so good-bye to you. (A KNOCKING, C.)
HUNT. Servant, Mr. Deacon. (SMITH AND MOORE, WITHOUT WAITING TO
BE ANSWERED, OPEN AND ENTER, C. THEY ARE WELL INTO THE ROOM
BEFORE THEY OBSERVE HUNT.) [Talk of the Devil, sir!]
BRODIE. What brings you here? (SMITH AND MOORE, CONFOUNDED BY
THE OFFICER'S PRESENCE, SLOUCH TOGETHER TO RIGHT OF DOOR. HUNT,
STOPPING AS HE GOES OUT, CONTEMPLATES THE PAIR, SARCASTICALLY.
THIS IS SUPPORTED BY MOORE WITH SULLEN BRAVADO; BY SMITH, WITH
CRINGING AIRINESS.)
HUNT (DIGGING SMITH IN THE RIBS). Why, you are the very parties
I was looking for! (HE GOES OUT, C.)
SCENE VIII
BRODIE, MOORE, SMITH
MOORE. Wot was that cove here about?
BRODIE (WITH FOLDED ARMS, HALF-SITTING ON BENCH). He was here
about you.
SMITH (STILL QUITE DISCOUNTENANCED). About us? Scissors! And
what did you tell him?
BRODIE (SAME ATTITUDE). I spoke of you as I have found you. [I
told him you were a disreputable hound, and that Moore had
crossed a fight.] I told him you were a drunken ass, and Moore
an incompetent and dishonest boxer.
MOORE. Look here, Deacon! Wot's up? Wot I ses is, if a cove's
got any thundering grudge agin a cove, why can't he spit it out,
I ses.
BRODIE. Here are my answers (PRODUCING PURSE AND DICE). These
are both too light. This purse is empty, these dice are not
loaded. Is it indiscretion to inquire how you share? Equal with
the Captain, I presume?
SMITH. It's as easy as my eye, Deakin. Slink Ainslie got
letting the merry glass go round, and didn't know the right bones
from the wrong. That's Hall.
BRODIE. [What clumsy liars you are!
SMITH. In boyhood's 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 we'd trot
round - didn't us, Hump? and see
HUNT. I was dead sure of it; and 'and upon 'art, Mr. Deacon, I
thank you. Now (CONSULTING POCKET-BOOK), did you ever meet a
certain George Smith?
BRODIE. The fellow they call Jingling Geordie? (HUNT NODS.)
Yes.
HUNT. Bad character.
BRODIE. Let us say . . . disreputable.
HUNT. Any means of livelihood?
BRODIE. I really cannot pretend to guess, I have met the
creature at cock-fights [which, as you know, are my weakness].
Perhaps he bets.
HUNT. [Mr. Deacon, from what I know of the gentleman, I should
say that if he don't - if he ain't open to any mortal thing - he
ain't the man I mean.] He used to be about with a man called
Badger Moore.
BRODIE. The boxer?
HUNT. That's him. Know anything of him?
BRODIE. Not much. I lost five pieces on him in a fight; and I
fear he sold his backers.
HUNT. Speaking as one admirer of the noble art to another, Mr.
Deacon, the losers always do. I suppose the Badger cockfights
like the rest of us?
BRODIE. I have met him in the pit.
HUNT. Well, it's a pretty sport. I'm as partial to a main as
anybody.
BRODIE. It's not an elegant taste, Mr. Hunt.
HUNT. It costs as much as though it was. And that reminds me,
speaking as one sportsman to another, Mr. Deacon, I was sorry to
hear that you've been dropping a hatful of money lately.
BRODIE. You are very good.
HUNT. Four hundred in three months, they tell me.
BRODIE. Ah!
HUNT. So they say, sir.
BRODIE. They have a perfect right to say so, Mr. Hunt.
HUNT. And you to do the other thing? Well, I'm a good hand at
keeping close myself.
BRODIE. I am not consulting you, Mr. Hunt; 'tis you who are
consulting me. And if there is nothing else (RISING) in which I
can pretend to serve you . . . ?
HUNT (RISING). That's about all, sir, unless you can put me on
to anything good in the way of heckle and spur? I'd try to look
in.
BRODIE. O, come, Mr. Hunt, if you have nothing to do, frankly
and flatly I have. This is not the day for such a conversation;
and so good-bye to you. (A KNOCKING, C.)
HUNT. Servant, Mr. Deacon. (SMITH AND MOORE, WITHOUT WAITING TO
BE ANSWERED, OPEN AND ENTER, C. THEY ARE WELL INTO THE ROOM
BEFORE THEY OBSERVE HUNT.) [Talk of the Devil, sir!]
BRODIE. What brings you here? (SMITH AND MOORE, CONFOUNDED BY
THE OFFICER'S PRESENCE, SLOUCH TOGETHER TO RIGHT OF DOOR. HUNT,
STOPPING AS HE GOES OUT, CONTEMPLATES THE PAIR, SARCASTICALLY.
THIS IS SUPPORTED BY MOORE WITH SULLEN BRAVADO; BY SMITH, WITH
CRINGING AIRINESS.)
HUNT (DIGGING SMITH IN THE RIBS). Why, you are the very parties
I was looking for! (HE GOES OUT, C.)
SCENE VIII
BRODIE, MOORE, SMITH
MOORE. Wot was that cove here about?
BRODIE (WITH FOLDED ARMS, HALF-SITTING ON BENCH). He was here
about you.
SMITH (STILL QUITE DISCOUNTENANCED). About us? Scissors! And
what did you tell him?
BRODIE (SAME ATTITUDE). I spoke of you as I have found you. [I
told him you were a disreputable hound, and that Moore had
crossed a fight.] I told him you were a drunken ass, and Moore
an incompetent and dishonest boxer.
MOORE. Look here, Deacon! Wot's up? Wot I ses is, if a cove's
got any thundering grudge agin a cove, why can't he spit it out,
I ses.
BRODIE. Here are my answers (PRODUCING PURSE AND DICE). These
are both too light. This purse is empty, these dice are not
loaded. Is it indiscretion to inquire how you share? Equal with
the Captain, I presume?
SMITH. It's as easy as my eye, Deakin. Slink Ainslie got
letting the merry glass go round, and didn't know the right bones
from the wrong. That's Hall.
BRODIE. [What clumsy liars you are!
SMITH. In boyhood's 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 we'd trot
round - didn't us, Hump? and see