Jean. What a expense!
Smith. Hey, brandy! The deuce of the grape! Have a toothful, Mrs. Watt. [(Sings)—
‘Says Bacchus to Venus,
There’s brandy between us,
And the cradle of love is the bowl, the bowl!’]
Jean. Nane for me, I thank ye, Mr. Smith.
Smith. What brings the man from stuff like this to rotgut and spittoons at Mother Clarke’s; but ah, George, you was born for a higher spear! And so was you, Mrs. Watt, though I say it that shouldn’t. (Seeing Old Brodie for the first time.) Hullo! it’s a man!
Jean. Thonder in the chair. (They go to look at him, their backs to the door.)
George. Is he alive?
Jean. I think there’s something wrong with him.
George. And how was you to-morrow, my valued old gentleman, eh?
Jean. Dinna mak’ a mock o’ him, Geordie.