The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15. Robert Louis Stevenson

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      Brodie. This is plain speaking.

      Moore. Plain? Wot about your father as can’t walk? Wot about your fine-madam sister? Wot about the stone-jug, and the dock, and the rope in the open street? Is that plain? If it ain’t, you let me know, and I’ll spit it out so as it’ll raise the roof of this ’ere ken. Plain! I’m that cove’s master, and I’ll make it plain enough for him.

      Brodie. What do you want of me?

      Moore. Wot do I want of you? Now you speak sense. Leslie’s is wot I want of you. The Excise is wot I want of you. Leslie’s to-night and the Excise to-morrow. That’s wot I want of you, and wot I thundering well mean to get.

      Brodie. Damn you!

      Moore. Amen. But you’ve got your orders.

      Brodie (with pistol). Orders? hey? orders?

      Smith (between them). Deacon, Deacon! – Badger, are you mad?

      Moore. Muck! That’s my motto. Wot I ses is, Has he got his orders or has he not? That’s wot’s the matter with him.

      Smith. Deacon, half a tick. Humphrey, I’m only a light weight, and you fight at twelve stone ten, but I’m damned if I’m going to stand still and see you hitting a pal when he’s down.

      Moore. Muck! That’s wot I think of you.

      Smith. He’s a cut above us, ain’t he? He never sold his backers, did he? We couldn’t have done without him, could we? You dry up about his old man, and his sister; and don’t go on hitting a pal when he’s knocked out of time and cannot hit back, for, damme, I will not stand it.

      Moore. Amen to you. But I’m cock of this here thundering walk, and that cove’s got his orders.

      Brodie (putting pistol on bench). I give in. I will do your work for you once more. Leslie’s to-night and the Excise to-morrow. If that is enough, if you have no more … orders, you may count it as done.

      Moore. Fen larks. No rotten shirking, mind.

      Brodie. I have passed you my word. And now you have said what you came to say, you must go. I have business here; but two hours hence I am at your … orders. Where shall I await you?

      Moore. What about that woman’s place of yours?

      Brodie. Your will is my law.

      Moore. That’s good enough. Now, Dook.

      Smith. Bye-bye, my William. Don’t forget.

      Brodie. Trust me. No man forgets his vice, you dogs, or forgives it either. It must be done: Leslie’s to-night and the Excise to-morrow. It shall be done. This settles it. They used to fetch and carry for me, and now … I’ve licked their boots, have I? I’m their man, their tool, their chattel. It’s the bottom rung of the ladder of shame. I sound with my foot, and there’s nothing underneath but the black emptiness of damnation. Ah, Deacon, Deacon, and so this is where you’ve been travelling all these years; and it’s for this that you learned French! The gallows … God help me, it begins to dog me like my shadow. There’s a step to take! And the jerk upon your spine! How’s a man to die with a night-cap on? I’ve done with this. Over yonder, across the great ocean, is a new land, with new characters, and perhaps new lives. The sun shines, and the bells ring, and it’s a place where men live gladly; and the Deacon himself can walk without terror, and begin again like a new-born child. It must be good to see day again and not to fear; it must be good to be one’s self with all men. Happy like a child, wise like a man, free like God’s angels … should I work these hands off and eat crusts, there were a life to make me young and good again. And it’s only over the sea! O man, you have been blind, and now your eyes are opened. It was half a life’s nightmare, and now you are awake. Up, Deacon, up, it’s hope that’s at the window! Mary! Mary! Mary!

      Brodie has fallen into a chair, with his face upon the table. Enter Mary, by the side door, pushing her father’s chair. She is supposed to have advanced far enough for stage purposes before Brodie is aware of her. He starts up and runs to her.

      Brodie. Look up, my lass, look up, and be a woman! I… O, kiss me, Mary! give me a kiss for my good news.

      Mary. Good news, Will? Is it changed?

      Brodie. Changed? Why, the world’s a different colour! It was night, and now it’s broad day, and I trust myself again. You must wait, dear, wait, and I must work and work; and before the week is out, as sure as God sees me, I’ll have made you happy. O you may think me broken, hounds, but the Deacon’s not the man to be run down; trust him, he shall turn a corner yet, and leave you snarling! And you, Poll, you. I’ve done nothing for you yet; but, please God, I’ll make your life a life of gold; and wherever I am, I’ll have a part in your happiness, and you’ll know it, by heaven! and bless me.

      Mary. O Willie, look at him; I think he hears you, and is trying to be glad with us.

      Old Brodie. My son – Deacon – better man than I was.

      Brodie. O, for God’s sake, hear him!

      Mary. He is quite happy, Will, and so am I … so am I.

      Brodie. Hear me, Mary. This is a big moment in our two lives. I swear to you by the father here between us that it shall not be fault of mine if this thing fails; if this ship founders you have set your hopes in. I swear it by our father; I swear it by God’s judgments.

      Mary. I want no oaths, Will.

      Brodie. No, but I do. And prayers, Mary, prayers. Pray night and day upon your knees. I must move mountains.

      Old Brodie. A wise son maketh – maketh —

      Brodie. A glad father? And does your son, the Deacon, make you glad? O heaven of heavens, if I were a good man!

      ACT III

       TABLEAU V

      King’s Evidence

      The Stage represents a public place in Edinburgh

      They loiter in L., and stand looking about as for somebody not there. Smith is hat in hand to Jean; Moore as usual

      Moore. Wot did I tell you? Is he ’ere or ain’t he? Now then. Slink by name and Slink by nature, that’s wot’s the matter with him.

      Jean. He’ll no’ be lang; he’s regular enough, if that was a’.

      Moore. I’d regular him; I’d break his back.

      Smith. Badger, you brute, you hang on to the lessons of your dancing-master. None but the genteel deserves the fair; does they, Duchess?

      Moore. O rot! Did I insult the blowen? Wot’s the matter with me is Slink Ainslie.

      Smith. All right, old Crossed-in-love. Give him forty winks, and he’ll turn up as fresh as clean sawdust and as respectable as a new Bible.

      Moore. That’s right enough; but I ain’t a-going to stand here all day for СКАЧАТЬ