ANDERSON.
Hold your tongue, woman; and get me the pistols. (She goes to the press and takes from it a leather belt with two pistols, a powder horn, and a bag of bullets attached to it. She throws it on the table. Then she unlocks a drawer in the press and takes out a purse. Anderson grabs the belt and buckles it on, saying) If they took him for me in my coat, perhaps they’ll take me for him in his. (Hitching the belt into its place) Do I look like him?
JUDITH.
(turning with the purse in her hand). Horribly unlike him.
ANDERSON.
(snatching the purse from her and emptying it on the table). Hm! We shall see.
JUDITH.
(sitting down helplessly). Is it of any use to pray, do you think, Tony?
ANDERSON.
(counting the money). Pray! Can we pray Swindon’s rope off Richard’s neck?
JUDITH.
God may soften Major Swindon’s heart.
ANDERSON.
(contemptuously—pocketing a handful of money). Let him, then. I am not God; and I must go to work another way. (Judith gasps at the blasphemy. He throws the purse on the table.) Keep that. I’ve taken 25 dollars.
JUDITH.
Have you forgotten even that you are a minister?
ANDERSON.
Minister be—faugh! My hat: where’s my hat? (He snatches up hat and cloak, and puts both on in hot haste.) Now listen, you. If you can get a word with him by pretending you’re his wife, tell him to hold his tongue until morning: that will give me all the start I need.
JUDITH.
(solemnly). You may depend on him to the death.