Smith. A free pardon, Jerry?
Hunt. Don’t I tell you so?
Smith. And fifty down? fifty?
Hunt. On the nail.
Smith. So you came a cropper with her, and then you tried it on with me?
Hunt. I suppose you mean you’re a born idiot?
Smith. What I mean is, Jerry, that you’ve broke my heart. I used to look up to you like a party might to Julius Cæsar. One more of boyhood’s dreams gone pop! (Enter Moore, L.)
Hunt (to both). Come, then, I’ll take the pair, and be damned to you. Free pardon to both, fifty down and the Deacon out of the way. I don’t care for you commoners, it’s the Deacon I want.
Jean (looking off stolidly). I think the kirks are scalin’. There seems to be mair people in the streets.
Hunt. O, that’s the way, is it? Do you know that I can hang you, my woman, and your fancy man as well?