Scud. [Rising.] I'd cut my throat—or yours—yours I'd prefer.
M'Closky. Would you now? why don't you do it?
Scud. 'Cos I's skeered to try! I never killed a man in my life—and civilization is so strong in me I guess I couldn't do it—I'd like to, though!
M'Closky. And all for the sake of that old woman and that young puppy—eh? No other cause to hate—to envy me—to be jealous of me—eh?
Scud. Jealous! what for?
M'Closky. Ask the color in your face; d'ye think I can't read you, like a book? With your New England hypocrisy, you would persuade yourself it was this family alone you cared for; it ain't—you know it ain't—'tis the "Octoroon;" and you love her as I do; and you hate me because I'm your rival—that's where the tears come from, Salem Scudder, if you ever shed any—that's where the shoe pinches.
Scud. Wal, I do like the gal; she's a—
M'Closky. She's in love with young Peyton; it made me curse, whar it made you cry, as it does now; I see the tears on your cheeks now.
Scud. Look at 'em, Jacob, for they are honest water from the well of truth. I ain't ashamed of it—I do love the gal; but I ain't jealous of you, because I believe the only sincere feeling about you is your love for Zoe, and it does your heart good to have her image thar; but I believe you put it thar to spile. By fair means I don't think you can get her, and don't you try foul with her, 'cause if you do, Jacob, civilization be darned. I'm on you like a painter, and when I'm drawed out I'm pizin.
[Exit Scudder to house, L.