Smith (still quite discountenanced). About us? Scissors! And what did you tell him?
Brodie (same attitude). I spoke of you as I have found you. [I told him you were a disreputable hound, and that Moore had crossed a fight.] I told him you were a drunken ass, and Moore an incompetent and dishonest boxer.
Moore. Look here, Deacon! Wot’s up? Wot I ses is, if a cove’s got any thundering grudge agin a cove, why can’t he spit it out, I ses.
Brodie. Here are my answers (producing purse and dice). These are both too light. This purse is empty, these dice are not loaded. Is it indiscretion to inquire how you share? Equal with the Captain, I presume?
Smith. It’s as easy as my eye, Deakin. Slink Ainslie got letting the merry glass go round, and didn’t know the right bones from the wrong. That’s hall.
Brodie. [What clumsy liars you are!
Smith. In boyhood’s hour, Deakin, he were called Old Truthful. Little did he think—]
Brodie. What is your errand?
Moore. Business.
Smith. After the melancholy games of last night, Deakin, which no one deplores so much as George Smith, we thought we’d trot round—didn’t us, Hump? and see how you and your bankers was a-getting on.