plays [4]
sir. 'Od, it's harder to end than to
begin wi' stuff like that.
SCENE III
To these, SMITH and JEAN, C.
SMITH. Is the king of the castle in, please?
LAWSON (ASIDE). Lord's sake, it's Smith!
BRODIE (TO SMITH). I beg your pardon?
SMITH. I beg yours, sir. If you please, sir, is Mr. Brodie at
home, sir?
BRODIE. What do you want with him, my man?
SMITH. I've a message for him, sir, a job of work, sir!
BRODIE (TO SMITH; REFERRING TO JEAN). And who is this?
JEAN. I am here for the Procurator, about my rent. There's nae
offence, I hope, sir.
LAWSON. It's just an honest wife I let a flat to in Libberton's
Wynd. It'll be for the rent?
JEAN. Just that, sir.
LAWSON. Weel, ye can just bide here a wee, and I'll step down
the road to my office wi' ye. (EXEUNT BRODIE, LAWSON, LESLIE,
C.)
SCENE IV
SMITH, JEAN WATT, OLD BRODIE.
SMITH (BOWING THEM OUT). Your humble and most devoted servant,
George Smith, Esquire. And so this is the garding, is it? And
this is the style of horticulture? Ha, it is! (AT THE MIRROR.)
In that case George's mother bids him bind his hair. (KISSES HIS
HAND.) My dearest Duchess, - (TO JEAN.) I say, Jean, there's a
good deal of difference between this sort of thing and the way we
does it in Libberton's Wynd.
JEAN. I daursay. And what wad ye expeck?
SMITH. Ah, Jean, if you'd cast affection's glance on this poor
but honest soger! George Lord S. is not the nobleman to cut the
object of his flame before the giddy throng; nor to keep her
boxed up in an old mouse-trap, while he himself is revelling in
purple splendours like these. He didn't know you, Jean: he was
afraid to. Do you call that a man? Try a man that is.
JEAN. Geordie Smith, ye ken vera weel I'll tak' nane o' that
sort of talk frae you. And what kind o' a man are you to even
yoursel' to the likes o' him? He's a gentleman.
SMITH. Ah, ain't he just! And don't he live up to it? I say,
Jean, feel of this chair.
JEAN. My! look at yon bed!
SMITH. The carpet too! Axminster, by the bones of Oliver
Cromwell!
JEAN. What a expense!
SMITH. Hey, brandy! The deuce of the grape! Have a toothful,
Mrs. Watt. [(SINGS) -
'Says Bacchus to Venus,
There's brandy between us,
And the cradle of love is the bowl, the bowl!']
JEAN. Nane for me, I thank ye, Mr. Smith.
SMITH. What brings the man from stuff like this to rotgut and
spittoons at Mother Clarke's; but ah, George, you was born for a
higher spear! And so was you, Mrs. Watt, though I say it that
shouldn't. (SEEING OLD BRODIE FOR THE FIRST TIME.) Hullo! it's
a man!
JEAN. Thonder in the chair. (THEY GO TO LOOK AT HIM, THEIR
BACKS TO THE DOOR.)
GEORGE. Is he alive?
JEAN. I think there's something wrong with him.
GEORGE. And how was you to-morrow, my valued old gentleman, eh?
JEAN. Dinna mak' a mock o' him, Geordie.
OLD BRODIE. My son - the Deacon - Deacon of his trade.
JEAN. He'll be his feyther. (HUNT APPEARS AT DOOR C., AND
STANDS LOOKING ON.)
SMITH. The Deacon's old man! Well, he couldn't expect to have
his quiver full of sich, could he, Jean? (TO OLD BRODIE.) Ah,
my Christian soldier, if you had, the world would have been more
varigated. Mrs. Deakin (TO JEAN), let me introduce you to your
dear papa.
JEAN. Think shame to yoursel'! This is the Deacon's house; you
and me shouldna be here by rights; and if we are, it's the least
we can do to behave dacent. [This is no the way ye'll mak' me
like ye.]
SMITH. All right, Duchess. Don't be angry.
SCENE V
To these, HUNT, C. (He steals down, and claps each one suddenly
on the shoulder.)
HUNT. Is there a gentleman here by the name of Mr. Procurator-
Fiscal?
SMITH (PULLING HIMSELF TOGETHER). D-n it, Jerry, what do you
mean by startling an old customer like that?
HUNT. What, my brave un'? You're the very party I was looking
for!
SMITH. There's nothing out against me this time?
HUNT. I'll take odds there is. But it ain't in
begin wi' stuff like that.
SCENE III
To these, SMITH and JEAN, C.
SMITH. Is the king of the castle in, please?
LAWSON (ASIDE). Lord's sake, it's Smith!
BRODIE (TO SMITH). I beg your pardon?
SMITH. I beg yours, sir. If you please, sir, is Mr. Brodie at
home, sir?
BRODIE. What do you want with him, my man?
SMITH. I've a message for him, sir, a job of work, sir!
BRODIE (TO SMITH; REFERRING TO JEAN). And who is this?
JEAN. I am here for the Procurator, about my rent. There's nae
offence, I hope, sir.
LAWSON. It's just an honest wife I let a flat to in Libberton's
Wynd. It'll be for the rent?
JEAN. Just that, sir.
LAWSON. Weel, ye can just bide here a wee, and I'll step down
the road to my office wi' ye. (EXEUNT BRODIE, LAWSON, LESLIE,
C.)
SCENE IV
SMITH, JEAN WATT, OLD BRODIE.
SMITH (BOWING THEM OUT). Your humble and most devoted servant,
George Smith, Esquire. And so this is the garding, is it? And
this is the style of horticulture? Ha, it is! (AT THE MIRROR.)
In that case George's mother bids him bind his hair. (KISSES HIS
HAND.) My dearest Duchess, - (TO JEAN.) I say, Jean, there's a
good deal of difference between this sort of thing and the way we
does it in Libberton's Wynd.
JEAN. I daursay. And what wad ye expeck?
SMITH. Ah, Jean, if you'd cast affection's glance on this poor
but honest soger! George Lord S. is not the nobleman to cut the
object of his flame before the giddy throng; nor to keep her
boxed up in an old mouse-trap, while he himself is revelling in
purple splendours like these. He didn't know you, Jean: he was
afraid to. Do you call that a man? Try a man that is.
JEAN. Geordie Smith, ye ken vera weel I'll tak' nane o' that
sort of talk frae you. And what kind o' a man are you to even
yoursel' to the likes o' him? He's a gentleman.
SMITH. Ah, ain't he just! And don't he live up to it? I say,
Jean, feel of this chair.
JEAN. My! look at yon bed!
SMITH. The carpet too! Axminster, by the bones of Oliver
Cromwell!
JEAN. What a expense!
SMITH. Hey, brandy! The deuce of the grape! Have a toothful,
Mrs. Watt. [(SINGS) -
'Says Bacchus to Venus,
There's brandy between us,
And the cradle of love is the bowl, the bowl!']
JEAN. Nane for me, I thank ye, Mr. Smith.
SMITH. What brings the man from stuff like this to rotgut and
spittoons at Mother Clarke's; but ah, George, you was born for a
higher spear! And so was you, Mrs. Watt, though I say it that
shouldn't. (SEEING OLD BRODIE FOR THE FIRST TIME.) Hullo! it's
a man!
JEAN. Thonder in the chair. (THEY GO TO LOOK AT HIM, THEIR
BACKS TO THE DOOR.)
GEORGE. Is he alive?
JEAN. I think there's something wrong with him.
GEORGE. And how was you to-morrow, my valued old gentleman, eh?
JEAN. Dinna mak' a mock o' him, Geordie.
OLD BRODIE. My son - the Deacon - Deacon of his trade.
JEAN. He'll be his feyther. (HUNT APPEARS AT DOOR C., AND
STANDS LOOKING ON.)
SMITH. The Deacon's old man! Well, he couldn't expect to have
his quiver full of sich, could he, Jean? (TO OLD BRODIE.) Ah,
my Christian soldier, if you had, the world would have been more
varigated. Mrs. Deakin (TO JEAN), let me introduce you to your
dear papa.
JEAN. Think shame to yoursel'! This is the Deacon's house; you
and me shouldna be here by rights; and if we are, it's the least
we can do to behave dacent. [This is no the way ye'll mak' me
like ye.]
SMITH. All right, Duchess. Don't be angry.
SCENE V
To these, HUNT, C. (He steals down, and claps each one suddenly
on the shoulder.)
HUNT. Is there a gentleman here by the name of Mr. Procurator-
Fiscal?
SMITH (PULLING HIMSELF TOGETHER). D-n it, Jerry, what do you
mean by startling an old customer like that?
HUNT. What, my brave un'? You're the very party I was looking
for!
SMITH. There's nothing out against me this time?
HUNT. I'll take odds there is. But it ain't in