Harry. No, I don't complain. It was a fair picture of fame and fortune you laid before me; and when I found the honorable mercantile business, in which you had amassed wealth, was work like this, I should have turned back.
Thornton. I told you to keep a clear head and a steady hand; to sell, not poison yourself with my liquid wares.
Harry. Yet you placed pleasures before me that turned my head, and—
Thornton. They never turned mine. You were a fool, and fell.
Harry. Ay, a fool! Yes, your fool, Robert Thornton. I quaffed the ruby wine, I flung myself into every indulgence, because you led me. I must keep a cool head and a steady hand, with fire in my veins! I feel I am condemned. Of my own free will, I flung away a life. I do not complain; but, when we stand before the last tribunal, Heaven be the judge if your hands are unstained with my life-blood, Robert Thornton.
Thornton. Enough of this: back to your den.
Harry. No, no, Thornton, not there! I will be quiet, silent; but do not, in mercy, do not drive me back there!
Thornton. Poor devil! Well, stay here: look after the bar until Daley returns. (Aside, going l.) He can't resist: he'll make a dive for the brandy, and forget. Two days without it: I should not have allowed that. (Exit l., i.e.)
Harry. Stay here! No, no, he has given me a chance for freedom. The doors are open: a dash, and I am free. Free for what? To die in the gutter. I could drag myself no farther; and who would look with compassion on such a ragged, bloated wretch as I? No, no: I have sold myself, body and soul, to this accursed life. (Staggers to bar.) Let me get at the brandy; that, at least, will bring freedom,—freedom from this maddening thirst, these horrible fears that drive me mad. (Staggers behind bar.) Ah, here, here! (Seizes decanter.) The balm for bitter memories. Stop, stop! That vision in the night,—Jessie, with her warning finger: and the old melody I loved so well rang in my ears. I vowed I'd drink no more, though I should die of madness. (Buries his face in his arms upon the bar. Enter r., down steps, Capt. Bragg.)
Capt. Found a new place. (Looking about.) Superb—gorgeous—dazzling! Here's juiciness! Just my idea of a palace. The man who figured this place no doubt believes his plan original. Absurd! I planned it years ago. Bragg's plan stolen! Fact, by jingo! (Raps on bar.) Come, young man, business, business. (Harry raises his head: Bragg staggers back.) Harry Maynard, or I'm no Bragg! (Comes to bar, and offers his hand.) Harry, young fellow, how are you? (Harry falls back, and glares at him.) Don't know me, hey? Why, I'm Bragg, Capt. Bragg, your distinguished townsman; Bragg of the Rangers; every man a sharpshooter, and their commander—well, modesty forbids my mentioning him in fitting panegyrics. Why, how you stare! You don't look well.