Plays of William E. Henley and R.L. Stevenson Part 12

BRODIE. Amen. But will He?

SCENE VII

BRODIE, HUNT

HUNT (_hat in hand_). Mr. Deacon Brodie, I believe?

BRODIE. I am he, Mr.-

HUNT. Hunt, sir; an officer from Sir John Fielding of Bow Street.

BRODIE. There can be no better pa.s.sport than the name. In what can I serve you?

HUNT. You'll excuse me, Mr. Deacon.

BRODIE. Your duty excuses you, Mr. Hunt.

HUNT. Your obedient. The fact is, Mr. Deacon [we in the office see a good deal of the lives of private parties; and I needn't tell a gentleman of your experience it's part of our duty to hold our tongues. Now], it's come to my knowledge that you are a trifle jokieous. Of course I know there ain't any harm in that. I've been young myself, Mr. Deacon, and speaking-

BRODIE. O, but pardon me. Mr. Hunt, I am not going to discuss my private character with you.

HUNT. To be sure you ain't. [And do I blame you? Not me.] But, speaking as one man of the world to another, you naturally see a great deal of bad company.

BRODIE. Not half so much as you do. But I see what you're driving at; and if I can illuminate the course of justice, you may command me. (_He sits_, _and motions_ HUNT _to do likewise_.)

HUNT. I was dead sure of it; and 'and upon 'art, Mr. Deacon, I thank you. Now (_consulting pocket-book_), did you ever meet a certain George Smith?

BRODIE. The fellow they call Jingling Geordie? (HUNT _nods_.) Yes.

HUNT. Bad character.

BRODIE. Let us say . . . disreputable.

HUNT. Any means of livelihood?

BRODIE. I really cannot pretend to guess, I have met the creature at c.o.c.k-fights [which, as you know, are my weakness]. Perhaps he bets.

HUNT. [Mr. Deacon, from what I know of the gentleman, I should say that if he don't-if he ain't open to any mortal thing-he ain't the man I mean.] He used to be about with a man called Badger Moore.

BRODIE. The boxer?

HUNT. That's him. Know anything of him?

BRODIE. Not much. I lost five pieces on him in a fight; and I fear he sold his backers.

HUNT. Speaking as one admirer of the n.o.ble art to another, Mr. Deacon, the losers always do. I suppose the Badger c.o.c.kfights like the rest of us?

BRODIE. I have met him in the pit.

HUNT. Well, it's a pretty sport. I'm as partial to a main as anybody.

BRODIE. It's not an elegant taste, Mr. Hunt.

HUNT. It costs as much as though it was. And that reminds me, speaking as one sportsman to another, Mr. Deacon, I was sorry to hear that you've been dropping a hatful of money lately.

BRODIE. You are very good.

HUNT. Four hundred in three months, they tell me.

BRODIE. Ah!

HUNT. So they say, sir.

BRODIE. They have a perfect right to say so, Mr. Hunt.

HUNT. And you to do the other thing? Well, I'm a good hand at keeping close myself.

BRODIE. I am not consulting you, Mr. Hunt; 'tis you who are consulting me. And if there is nothing else (_rising_) in which I can pretend to serve you . . . ?

HUNT (_rising_). That's about all, sir, unless you can put me on to anything good in the way of heckle and spur? I'd try to look in.

BRODIE. O, come, Mr. Hunt, if you have nothing to do, frankly and flatly I have. This is not the day for such a conversation; and so good-bye to you. (_A knocking_, _C._)

HUNT. Servant, Mr. Deacon. (SMITH _and_ MOORE, _without waiting to be answered_, _open and enter_, _C._ _They are well into the room before they observe_ HUNT.) [Talk of the Devil, sir!]

BRODIE. What brings you here? (SMITH _and_ MOORE, _confounded by the officer's presence_, _slouch together to right of door_. HUNT, _stopping as he goes out_, _contemplates the pair_, _sarcastically_. _This is supported by_ MOORE _with sullen bravado_; _by_ SMITH, _with cringing airiness_.)

HUNT (_digging_ SMITH _in the ribs_). Why, you are the very parties I was looking for! (_He goes out_, _C._)

SCENE VIII

BRODIE, MOORE, SMITH

MOORE. Wot was that cove here about?

BRODIE (_with folded arms_, _half-sitting on bench_). He was here about you.

SMITH (_still quite discountenanced_). About us? Scissors! And what did you tell him?

BRODIE (_same att.i.tude_). I spoke of you as I have found you. [I told him you were a disreputable hound, and that Moore had crossed a fight.]

I told him you were a drunken a.s.s, and Moore an incompetent and dishonest boxer.

MOORE. Look here, Deacon! Wot's up? Wot I ses is, if a cove's got any thundering grudge agin a cove, why can't he spit it out, I ses.

BRODIE. Here are my answers (_producing purse and dice_). These are both too light. This purse is empty, these dice are not loaded. Is it indiscretion to inquire how you share? Equal with the Captain, I presume?