BRODIE. Can’t you pluck him yourself? SMITH. Not me. He’s too flash in the feather for a simple nobleman like George Lord Smith. It’s the great Capting Starlight, fresh in from York. [He’s exercised his noble art all the way from here to London. ‘Stand and deliver, stap my vitals!’] And the north road is no bad lay, Deakin. BRODIE. 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. SCENE VIII BRODIE, OLD BRODIE; to whom, MARY. 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.