plays [18]
how you and your bankers was
a-getting on.
BRODIE. Will you tell me your errand?
MOORE. You're dry, ain't you?
BRODIE. Am I?
MOORE. We ain't none of us got a stiver, that's wot's the matter
with us.
BRODIE. Is it?
MOORE. Ay, strike me, it is! And wot we've got to is to put up
the Excise.
SMITH. It's the last plant in the shrubbery Deakin, and it's
breaking George the gardener's heart, it is. We really must!
BRODIE. Must we?
MOORE. Must's the thundering word. I mean business, I do.
BRODIE. That's lucky. I don't.
MOORE. O, you don't, don't you?
BRODIE. I do not.
MOORE. Then p'raps you'll 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? I'm the Deacon, am I not? I've
been your king and your commander. I've 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 won't 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 I'll let you pack
with a whole skin? By my soul, but I've 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, don't you? Wot I ses to you is,
here I am, I ses, and here I mean to stick. That's my motto.
Who the devil are you to do the high and mighty? You make all
you can out of us, don't you? and when one of your plants get
cross, you order us out of the ken? Muck! That's wot I think of
you. Muck! Don't you get coming the nob over me, Mr. Deacon
Brodie, or I'll 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. I'm a man, I am.
BRODIE. This is plain speaking.
MOORE. Plain? Wot about your father as can't 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 ain't,
you let me know, and I'll spit it out so as it'll raise the roof
off this 'ere ken. Plain! I'm that cove's master, and I'll make
it plain enough for him.
BRODIE. What do you want of me?
MOORE. Wot do I want of you? Now you speak sense. Leslie's is
wot I want of you. The Excise is wot I want of you. Leslie's
to-night and the Excise to-morrow. That's wot I want of you, and
wot I thundering well mean to get.
BRODIE. Damn you!
MOORE. Amen. But you've got your orders.
BRODIE (WITH PISTOL). Orders? hey? orders?
SMITH (BETWEEN THEM). Deacon, Deacon! - Badger, are you mad?
MOORE. Muck! That's my motto. Wot I ses is, has he got his
orders or has he not? That's wot's the matter with him.
SMITH. Deacon, half a tick. Humphrey, I'm only a light weight,
and you fight at twelve stone ten, but I'm damned if I'm going to
stand still and see you hitting a pal when he's down.
MOORE. Muck! That's wot I think of you.
SMITH. He's a cut above us, ain't he? He never sold his
backers, did he? We couldn't have done without him, could we?
You dry up about his old man, and his sister; and don't go on
hitting a pal when he's knocked out of time and cannot hit back,
for, damme, I will not stand it.
MOORE. Amen to you. But I'm cock of this here thundering walk,
and that cove's got his orders.
BRODIE (PUTTING PISTOL ON BENCH). I give in. I will do your
work for you once more. Leslie's 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
a-getting on.
BRODIE. Will you tell me your errand?
MOORE. You're dry, ain't you?
BRODIE. Am I?
MOORE. We ain't none of us got a stiver, that's wot's the matter
with us.
BRODIE. Is it?
MOORE. Ay, strike me, it is! And wot we've got to is to put up
the Excise.
SMITH. It's the last plant in the shrubbery Deakin, and it's
breaking George the gardener's heart, it is. We really must!
BRODIE. Must we?
MOORE. Must's the thundering word. I mean business, I do.
BRODIE. That's lucky. I don't.
MOORE. O, you don't, don't you?
BRODIE. I do not.
MOORE. Then p'raps you'll 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? I'm the Deacon, am I not? I've
been your king and your commander. I've 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 won't 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 I'll let you pack
with a whole skin? By my soul, but I've 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, don't you? Wot I ses to you is,
here I am, I ses, and here I mean to stick. That's my motto.
Who the devil are you to do the high and mighty? You make all
you can out of us, don't you? and when one of your plants get
cross, you order us out of the ken? Muck! That's wot I think of
you. Muck! Don't you get coming the nob over me, Mr. Deacon
Brodie, or I'll 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. I'm a man, I am.
BRODIE. This is plain speaking.
MOORE. Plain? Wot about your father as can't 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 ain't,
you let me know, and I'll spit it out so as it'll raise the roof
off this 'ere ken. Plain! I'm that cove's master, and I'll make
it plain enough for him.
BRODIE. What do you want of me?
MOORE. Wot do I want of you? Now you speak sense. Leslie's is
wot I want of you. The Excise is wot I want of you. Leslie's
to-night and the Excise to-morrow. That's wot I want of you, and
wot I thundering well mean to get.
BRODIE. Damn you!
MOORE. Amen. But you've got your orders.
BRODIE (WITH PISTOL). Orders? hey? orders?
SMITH (BETWEEN THEM). Deacon, Deacon! - Badger, are you mad?
MOORE. Muck! That's my motto. Wot I ses is, has he got his
orders or has he not? That's wot's the matter with him.
SMITH. Deacon, half a tick. Humphrey, I'm only a light weight,
and you fight at twelve stone ten, but I'm damned if I'm going to
stand still and see you hitting a pal when he's down.
MOORE. Muck! That's wot I think of you.
SMITH. He's a cut above us, ain't he? He never sold his
backers, did he? We couldn't have done without him, could we?
You dry up about his old man, and his sister; and don't go on
hitting a pal when he's knocked out of time and cannot hit back,
for, damme, I will not stand it.
MOORE. Amen to you. But I'm cock of this here thundering walk,
and that cove's got his orders.
BRODIE (PUTTING PISTOL ON BENCH). I give in. I will do your
work for you once more. Leslie's 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