The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson. Роберт СтивенсонЧитать онлайн книгу.
Flush?
Smith (mimicking). ‘The graziers, split me! A mail, stap my vitals! and seven demned farmers, by the Lard – ’
Brodie. By Gad!
Smith. Good for trade, ain’t it? And we thought, Deakin, the Badger and me, that coins being ever on the vanish, and you not over sweet on them there lovely little locks at Leslie’s, and them there bigger and uglier marine stores at the Excise Office.
Brodie (impassible). Go on.
Smith. Worse luck!.. We thought, me and the Badger, you know, that maybe you’d like to exercise your helbow with our free and galliant horseman.
Brodie. The old move, I presume? the double set of dice?
Smith. That’s the rig, Deakin. What you drop on the square you pick up again on the cross. [Just as you did with G. S. and Co.’s own agent and correspondent, the Admiral from Nantz.] You always was a neat hand with the bones, Deakin.
Brodie. The usual terms, I suppose?
Smith. The old discount, Deakin. Ten in the pound for you, and the rest for your jolly companions every one. [That’s the way we does it!]
Brodie. Who has the dice?
Smith. Our mutual friend, the Candleworm.
Brodie. You mean Ainslie? – We trust that creature too much, Geordie.
Smith. He’s all right, Marquis. He wouldn’t lay a finger on his own mother. Why, he’s no more guile in him than a set of sheep’s trotters.
[Brodie. You think so? Then see he don’t cheat you over the dice, and give you light for loaded. See to that, George, see to that; and you may count the Captain as bare as his last grazier.
Smith. The Black Flag for ever! George’ll trot him round to Mother Clarke’s in two twos.] How long’ll you be?
Brodie. The time to lock up and go to bed, and I’ll be with you. Can you find your way out?
Smith. Bloom on, my Sweet William, in peaceful array. Ta-ta.
Mary. O Willie, I am glad you did not go with them. I have something to tell you. If you knew how happy I am, you would clap your hands, Will. But come, sit you down there, and be my good big brother, and I will kneel here and take your hand. We must keep close to dad, and then he will feel happiness in the air. The poor old love, if we could only tell him! But I sometimes think his heart has gone to heaven already, and takes a part in all our joys and sorrows; and it is only his poor body that remains here, helpless and ignorant. Come, Will, sit you down, and ask me questions – or guess – that will be better, guess.
Brodie. Not to-night, Mary; not to-night. I have other fish to fry, and they won’t wait.
Mary. Not one minute for your sister? One little minute for your little sister?
Brodie. Minutes are precious, Mary. I have to work for all of us, and the clock is always busy. They are waiting for me even now. Help me with the dad’s chair. And then to bed, and dream happy things. And to-morrow morning I will hear your news – your good news; it must be good, you look so proud and glad. But to-night it cannot be.
Mary. I hate your business – I hate all business. To think of chairs, and tables, and foot-rules, all dead and wooden – and cold pieces of money with the King’s ugly head on them; and here is your sister, your pretty sister, if you please, with something to tell, which she would not tell you for the world, and would give the world to have you guess, and you won’t? – Not you! For business! Fie, Deacon Brodie! But I’m too happy to find fault with you.
Brodie. ‘And me a Deacon,’ as the Procurator would say.
Mary. No such thing, sir! I am not a bit afraid of you – nor a bit angry neither. Give me a kiss, and promise me hours and hours to-morrow morning.
Brodie. All day long to-morrow, if you like.
Mary. Business or none?
Brodie. Business or none, little sister! I’ll make time, I promise you; and there’s another kiss for surety. Come along. (They proceed to push out the chair, L.C.) The wine and wisdom of this evening have given me one of my headaches, and I’m in haste for bed. You’ll be good, won’t you, and see they make no noise, and let me sleep my fill to-morrow morning till I wake?
Mary. Poor Will! How selfish I must have seemed! You should have told me sooner, and I wouldn’t have worried you. Come along.
(She goes out, pushing chair.)
Brodie. Now for one of the Deacon’s headaches! Rogues all, rogues all! (Goes to clothes-press, and proceeds to change his coat.) On with the new coat and into the new life! Down with the Deacon and up with the robber! (Changing neck-band and ruffles.) Eh God! how still the house is! There’s something in hypocrisy after all. If we were as good as we seem, what would the world be? [The city has its vizard on, and we – at night we are our naked selves. Trysts are keeping, bottles cracking, knives are stripping; and here is Deacon Brodie flaming forth the man of men he is!] – How still it is!.. My father and Mary – Well! the day for them, the night for me; the grimy cynical night that makes all cats grey, and all honesties of one complexion. Shall a man not have half a life of his own? – not eight hours out of twenty-four? [Eight shall he have should he dare the pit of Tophet.] (Takes out money.) Where’s the blunt? I must be cool to-night, or.. steady, Deacon, you must win; damn you, you must! You must win back the dowry that you’ve stolen, and marry your sister, and pay your debts, and gull the world a little longer! (As he blows out the lights.) The Deacon’s going to bed – the poor sick Deacon! Allons! (Throws up the window, and looks out.) Only the stars to see me! (Addressing the bed.) Lie there, Deacon! sleep and be well to-morrow. As for me, I’m a man once more till morning. (Gets out of the window.)
TABLEAU II.
Hunt the Runner
The Scene represents the Procurator’s Office.
[Lawson (entering). Step your ways in, Officer. (At wing.) Mr. Carfrae, give a chair to yon decent wife that cam’ in wi’ me. Nae news?
A voice without. Naething, sir.
Lawson (sitting). Weel, Officer, and what can I do for you?]
Hunt. Well, sir, as I was saying, I’ve an English warrant for the apprehension of one Jemmy Rivers, alias Captain Starlight, now at large within your jurisdiction.
Lawson. That’ll be the highwayman?
Hunt. That same, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal. The Captain’s given me a hard hunt of it this time. I dropped on his marks first at Huntingdon, but he was away North, and I had to up and after him. I heard of him all along the York road, for he’s a light hand on the pad, has Jemmy, and leaves his mark. [I missed him at York by four-and-twenty hours, and lost him for as much more. Then I picked him up again at Carlisle, and we made a race of it for the Border; but he’d a better nag, and was best up in the road; so I had to wait till I ran him to earth in Edinburgh here and could get a new warrant.] So here I am, sir. They told me you were an active sort of gentleman, and I’m an active man myself. And Sir John Fielding, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, he’s an active gentleman, likewise, though he’s blind as a himage, and he desired his compliments to you, [sir, and said that between us he thought we’d do the trick].
Lawson. Ay, he’ll be a fine man, Sir John. Hand me owre your papers, Hunt, and you’ll have your new warrant quam primum. And see here, Hunt, ye’ll aiblins have a while to yoursel’, and an active man, as ye say ye are, should aye be grinding grist. We’re sair forfeuchen wi’ our burglaries. Non constat de personâ. We canna get a grip o’ the delinquents. Here is the Hue and Cry. Ye see there is a guid two hundred pounds for ye.
Hunt. Well, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal [I ain’t