plays [9]
shawl, Mrs. Watt. [I should like to
take its next-door neighbour to Mrs. Hunt in King Street, Common
Garden.] What's about the figure?
JEAN. It's paid for. Ye can sweir to that.
HUNT. Yes, my dear, and so is King George's crown; but I don't
know what it cost, and I don't know where the blunt came from to
pay for it.
JEAN. I'm thinking ye'll be a vera clever gentleman.
HUNT. So I am, my dear; and I like you none the worse for being
artful yourself. But between friends now, and speaking as a
family man -
JEAN. I'll be wishin' ye a fine nicht. (CURTSIES AND GOES OUT.)
SCENE IV
HUNT (SOLUS)
HUNT. Ah! that's it, is it? 'My fancy man's my 'ole delight,'
as we say in Bow Street. But which IS the fancy man? George the
Dock, or William the Deacon? One or both? (HE WINKS SOLEMNLY.)
Well, Jerry, my boy, here's your work cut out for you; but if you
took one-nine-five for that 'ere little two hundred you'd be a
disgrace to the profession.
TABLEAU III. MOTHER CLARKE'S
SCENE I
The Stage represents a room of coarse and sordid appearance:
settles, spittoons, etc.; sanded floor. A large table at back,
where AINSLIE, HAMILTON, and others are playing cards and
quarrelling. In front, L. and R. smaller tables, at one of which
are BRODIE and MOORE, drinking. MRS. CLARKE and women serving.
MOORE. You've got the devil's own luck, Deacon, that's what
you've got.
BRODIE. Luck! Don't talk of luck to a man like me! Why not say
I've the devil's own judgment? Men of my stamp don't risk - they
plan, Badger; they plan, and leave chance to such cattle as you
[and Jingling Geordie. They make opportunities before they take
them].
MOORE. You're artful, ain't you?
BRODIE. Should I be here else? When I leave my house I leave an
ALIBI behind me. I'm ill - ill with a jumping headache, and the
fiend's own temper. I'm sick in bed this minute, and they're all
going about with the fear of death on them lest they should
disturb the poor sick Deacon. [My bedroom door is barred and
bolted like the bank - you remember! - and all the while the
window's open, and the Deacon's over the hills and far away.
What do you think of me?]
MOORE. I've seen your sort before, I have.
BRODIE. Not you. As for Leslie's -
MOORE. That was a nick above you.
BRODIE. Ay was it. He wellnigh took me red-handed; and that was
better luck than I deserved. If I'd not been drunk, and in my
tantrums, you'd never have got my hand within a thousand years of
such a job.
MOORE. Why not? You're the King of the Cracksmen, ain't you?
BRODIE. Why not! He asks me why not! Gods, what a brain it is!
Hark ye, Badger, it's all very well to be King of the Cracksmen,
as you call it; but however respectable he may have the
misfortune to be, one's friend is one's friend, and as such must
be severely let alone. What! shall there be no more honour among
thieves than there is honesty among politicians? Why, man, if
under heaven there were but one poor lock unpicked, and that the
lock of one whose claret you've drunk, and who has babbled of
woman across your own mahogany - that lock, sir, were entirely
sacred. Sacred as the Kirk of Scotland; sacred as King George
upon his throne; sacred as the memory of Bruce and Bannockburn.
MOORE. Oh, rot! I ain't a parson, I ain't; I never had no
college education. Business is business. That's wot's the
matter with me.
BRODIE. Ay, so we said when you lost that fight with Newcastle
Jemmy, and sent us all home poor men. That was a nick above YOU.
MOORE. Newcastle Jemmy! Muck: that's my opinion of him: muck.
I'll mop the floor up with him any day, if so be as you or any on
'em 'll make it worth my while. If not, muck! That's my motto.
Wot I now ses is, about that 'ere crib at Leslie's, wos I right,
I ses? or wos I wrong? That's wot's the matter with you.
BRODIE. You are both right and wrong. You dared me to do it. I
was drunk; I was upon my mettle; and I as good as did it. More
take its next-door neighbour to Mrs. Hunt in King Street, Common
Garden.] What's about the figure?
JEAN. It's paid for. Ye can sweir to that.
HUNT. Yes, my dear, and so is King George's crown; but I don't
know what it cost, and I don't know where the blunt came from to
pay for it.
JEAN. I'm thinking ye'll be a vera clever gentleman.
HUNT. So I am, my dear; and I like you none the worse for being
artful yourself. But between friends now, and speaking as a
family man -
JEAN. I'll be wishin' ye a fine nicht. (CURTSIES AND GOES OUT.)
SCENE IV
HUNT (SOLUS)
HUNT. Ah! that's it, is it? 'My fancy man's my 'ole delight,'
as we say in Bow Street. But which IS the fancy man? George the
Dock, or William the Deacon? One or both? (HE WINKS SOLEMNLY.)
Well, Jerry, my boy, here's your work cut out for you; but if you
took one-nine-five for that 'ere little two hundred you'd be a
disgrace to the profession.
TABLEAU III. MOTHER CLARKE'S
SCENE I
The Stage represents a room of coarse and sordid appearance:
settles, spittoons, etc.; sanded floor. A large table at back,
where AINSLIE, HAMILTON, and others are playing cards and
quarrelling. In front, L. and R. smaller tables, at one of which
are BRODIE and MOORE, drinking. MRS. CLARKE and women serving.
MOORE. You've got the devil's own luck, Deacon, that's what
you've got.
BRODIE. Luck! Don't talk of luck to a man like me! Why not say
I've the devil's own judgment? Men of my stamp don't risk - they
plan, Badger; they plan, and leave chance to such cattle as you
[and Jingling Geordie. They make opportunities before they take
them].
MOORE. You're artful, ain't you?
BRODIE. Should I be here else? When I leave my house I leave an
ALIBI behind me. I'm ill - ill with a jumping headache, and the
fiend's own temper. I'm sick in bed this minute, and they're all
going about with the fear of death on them lest they should
disturb the poor sick Deacon. [My bedroom door is barred and
bolted like the bank - you remember! - and all the while the
window's open, and the Deacon's over the hills and far away.
What do you think of me?]
MOORE. I've seen your sort before, I have.
BRODIE. Not you. As for Leslie's -
MOORE. That was a nick above you.
BRODIE. Ay was it. He wellnigh took me red-handed; and that was
better luck than I deserved. If I'd not been drunk, and in my
tantrums, you'd never have got my hand within a thousand years of
such a job.
MOORE. Why not? You're the King of the Cracksmen, ain't you?
BRODIE. Why not! He asks me why not! Gods, what a brain it is!
Hark ye, Badger, it's all very well to be King of the Cracksmen,
as you call it; but however respectable he may have the
misfortune to be, one's friend is one's friend, and as such must
be severely let alone. What! shall there be no more honour among
thieves than there is honesty among politicians? Why, man, if
under heaven there were but one poor lock unpicked, and that the
lock of one whose claret you've drunk, and who has babbled of
woman across your own mahogany - that lock, sir, were entirely
sacred. Sacred as the Kirk of Scotland; sacred as King George
upon his throne; sacred as the memory of Bruce and Bannockburn.
MOORE. Oh, rot! I ain't a parson, I ain't; I never had no
college education. Business is business. That's wot's the
matter with me.
BRODIE. Ay, so we said when you lost that fight with Newcastle
Jemmy, and sent us all home poor men. That was a nick above YOU.
MOORE. Newcastle Jemmy! Muck: that's my opinion of him: muck.
I'll mop the floor up with him any day, if so be as you or any on
'em 'll make it worth my while. If not, muck! That's my motto.
Wot I now ses is, about that 'ere crib at Leslie's, wos I right,
I ses? or wos I wrong? That's wot's the matter with you.
BRODIE. You are both right and wrong. You dared me to do it. I
was drunk; I was upon my mettle; and I as good as did it. More