plays [27]
the Excise Office in
Chessel's Court. At the back, L.C., an archway opening on the
High Street. The door of the Excise in wing, R.; the opposite
side of the stage is lumbered with barrels, packing-cases, etc.
Moonlight; the Excise Office casts a shadow over half the stage.
A clock strikes the hour. A round of the City Guard, with
halberts, lanterns, etc. enters and goes out again by the arch,
after having examined the fastenings of the great door and the
lumber on the left. Cry without in the High Street: 'Ten by the
bell, and a fine clear night.' Then enter cautiously by the
arch, SMITH and MOORE, with AINSLIE loaded with tools.
SCENE I
SMITH, MOORE, AINSLIE
SMITH (ENTERING FIRST). Come on. Coast clear.
MOORE (AFTER THEY HAVE COME TO THE FRONT.) Ain't he turned up
yet?
SMITH (TO AINSLIE). Now Maggot! The fishing's a going to begin.
AINSLIE. Dinna cangle, Geordie. My back's fair broke.
MOORE. O muck! Hand out them pieces.
SMITH. All right, Humptious! (TO AINSLIE.) You're a nice old
sort for a rag-and-bone man: can't hold a bag open! (TAKING OUT
TOOLS.) Here they was. Here are the bunchums, one AND two; and
jolly old keys was they. Here's the picklocks, crow-bars, and
here's Lord George's pet bull's eye, his old and valued friend,
the Cracksman's treasure!
MOORE. Just like you. Forgot the rotten centrebit.
SMITH. That's all you know. Here she is, bless her! Portrait
of George as a gay hironmonger.
MOORE. O rot! Hand it over, and keep yourself out of that there
thundering moonlight.
SMITH (LIGHTING LANTERN). All right, old mumble-peg. Don't you
get carried away by the fire of old Rome. That's your motto.
Here are the tools; a perfect picter of the sublime and
beautiful; and all I hope is, that our friend and pitcher, the
Deakin, will make a better job of it than he did last night. If
he don't, I shall retire from the business - that's all; and
it'll be George and his little wife and a black footman till
death do us part.
MOORE. O muck! You're all jaw like a sheep's jimmy. That's my
opinion of you. When did you see him last?
SMITH. This morning; and he looked as if he was rehearsing for
his own epitaph. I never see such a change in a man. I gave him
the office for to-night; and was he grateful? Did he weep upon
my faithful bosom? No; he smiled upon me like a portrait of the
dear departed. I see his 'art was far away; and it broke my own
to look at him.
MOORE. Muck! Wot I ses is, if a cove's got that much of the nob
about him, wot's the good of his working single-handed? That's
wot's the matter with him.
SMITH. Well, old Father Christmas, he ain't single-handed to-
night, is he?
MOORE. No, he ain't; he's got a man with him to-night.
SMITH. Pardon me, Romeo; two men, I think?
MOORE. A man wot means business. If I'd a bin with him last
night, it ain't psalm-singin' would have got us off. Psalm-
singin'? Muck! Let 'em try it on with me.
AINSLIE. Losh me, I heard a noise. (ALARM; THEY CROUCH INTO THE
SHADOW AND LISTEN.)
SMITH. All serene. (TO AINSLIE) Am I to cut that liver out of
you? Now, am I? (A WHISTLE.) 'St! here we are. (WHISTLES A
MODULATION, WHICH IS ANSWERED.)
SCENE II
To these BRODIE
MOORE. Waiting for you, Deacon.
BRODIE. I see. Everything ready?
SMITH. All a-growing and a-blowing.
BRODIE. Give me the light. (BRIEFLY EXAMINES TOOLS AND DOOR WITH
BULL'S EYE.) You, George, stand by, and hand up the pieces.
Ainslie, take the glim. Moore, out and watch.
MOORE. I didn't come here to do sentry-go, I didn't.
BRODIE. You came here to do as I tell you. (MOORE GOES UP
SLOWLY.) Second bunch, George. I know the lock. Steady with
the glim. (AT WORK.) No good. Give me the centrebit.
SMITH. Right. (WORK CONTINUES. AINSLIE DROPS LANTERN.)
BRODIE. Curse you! (THROTTLING AND KICKING HIM.) You shake,
and you shake, and you can't even hold a light for your betters.
Hey?
AINSLIE. Eh Deacon, Deacon
Chessel's Court. At the back, L.C., an archway opening on the
High Street. The door of the Excise in wing, R.; the opposite
side of the stage is lumbered with barrels, packing-cases, etc.
Moonlight; the Excise Office casts a shadow over half the stage.
A clock strikes the hour. A round of the City Guard, with
halberts, lanterns, etc. enters and goes out again by the arch,
after having examined the fastenings of the great door and the
lumber on the left. Cry without in the High Street: 'Ten by the
bell, and a fine clear night.' Then enter cautiously by the
arch, SMITH and MOORE, with AINSLIE loaded with tools.
SCENE I
SMITH, MOORE, AINSLIE
SMITH (ENTERING FIRST). Come on. Coast clear.
MOORE (AFTER THEY HAVE COME TO THE FRONT.) Ain't he turned up
yet?
SMITH (TO AINSLIE). Now Maggot! The fishing's a going to begin.
AINSLIE. Dinna cangle, Geordie. My back's fair broke.
MOORE. O muck! Hand out them pieces.
SMITH. All right, Humptious! (TO AINSLIE.) You're a nice old
sort for a rag-and-bone man: can't hold a bag open! (TAKING OUT
TOOLS.) Here they was. Here are the bunchums, one AND two; and
jolly old keys was they. Here's the picklocks, crow-bars, and
here's Lord George's pet bull's eye, his old and valued friend,
the Cracksman's treasure!
MOORE. Just like you. Forgot the rotten centrebit.
SMITH. That's all you know. Here she is, bless her! Portrait
of George as a gay hironmonger.
MOORE. O rot! Hand it over, and keep yourself out of that there
thundering moonlight.
SMITH (LIGHTING LANTERN). All right, old mumble-peg. Don't you
get carried away by the fire of old Rome. That's your motto.
Here are the tools; a perfect picter of the sublime and
beautiful; and all I hope is, that our friend and pitcher, the
Deakin, will make a better job of it than he did last night. If
he don't, I shall retire from the business - that's all; and
it'll be George and his little wife and a black footman till
death do us part.
MOORE. O muck! You're all jaw like a sheep's jimmy. That's my
opinion of you. When did you see him last?
SMITH. This morning; and he looked as if he was rehearsing for
his own epitaph. I never see such a change in a man. I gave him
the office for to-night; and was he grateful? Did he weep upon
my faithful bosom? No; he smiled upon me like a portrait of the
dear departed. I see his 'art was far away; and it broke my own
to look at him.
MOORE. Muck! Wot I ses is, if a cove's got that much of the nob
about him, wot's the good of his working single-handed? That's
wot's the matter with him.
SMITH. Well, old Father Christmas, he ain't single-handed to-
night, is he?
MOORE. No, he ain't; he's got a man with him to-night.
SMITH. Pardon me, Romeo; two men, I think?
MOORE. A man wot means business. If I'd a bin with him last
night, it ain't psalm-singin' would have got us off. Psalm-
singin'? Muck! Let 'em try it on with me.
AINSLIE. Losh me, I heard a noise. (ALARM; THEY CROUCH INTO THE
SHADOW AND LISTEN.)
SMITH. All serene. (TO AINSLIE) Am I to cut that liver out of
you? Now, am I? (A WHISTLE.) 'St! here we are. (WHISTLES A
MODULATION, WHICH IS ANSWERED.)
SCENE II
To these BRODIE
MOORE. Waiting for you, Deacon.
BRODIE. I see. Everything ready?
SMITH. All a-growing and a-blowing.
BRODIE. Give me the light. (BRIEFLY EXAMINES TOOLS AND DOOR WITH
BULL'S EYE.) You, George, stand by, and hand up the pieces.
Ainslie, take the glim. Moore, out and watch.
MOORE. I didn't come here to do sentry-go, I didn't.
BRODIE. You came here to do as I tell you. (MOORE GOES UP
SLOWLY.) Second bunch, George. I know the lock. Steady with
the glim. (AT WORK.) No good. Give me the centrebit.
SMITH. Right. (WORK CONTINUES. AINSLIE DROPS LANTERN.)
BRODIE. Curse you! (THROTTLING AND KICKING HIM.) You shake,
and you shake, and you can't even hold a light for your betters.
Hey?
AINSLIE. Eh Deacon, Deacon