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.