Ainslie. What’ll like be my share?
Moore. You mucking well leave that to me.
Rivers. Well, Mr. Deakin, if you passatively will have me shake a helbow——
Brodie. Where are the bones, Ainslie? Where are the dice, Lord George? (Ainslie gives the dice and dice-box to Brodie; and privately a second pair of dice.) Old Fortune’s counters; the bonnie money-catching, money-breeding bones! Hark to their dry music! Scotland against England! Sit round, you tame devils, and put your coins on me!
Smith. Easy does it, my lord of high degree! Keep cool.
Brodie. Cool’s the word, Captain—a cool twenty on the first?
Rivers. Done and done. (They play.)
Hunt (aside to Moore, a little drunk). Ain’t that ’ere Scots gentleman, your friend, too drunk to play, sir?
Moore. You hold your jaw; that’s what’s the matter with you.
Ainslie. He’s waur nor he looks. He’s knockit the box aff the table.