out? Muck! Here I am, and here I stick. Clear out? You try it on. I'm a
man, I am.

BRODIE. This is plain speaking.

MOORE. Plain? Wot about your father as can't walk? Wot about your
fine-madam sister? Wot about the stone-jug, and the dock, and the rope
in the open street? Is that plain? If it ain't, you let me know, and
I'll spit it out so as it'll raise the roof of this 'ere ken. Plain! I'm
that cove's master, and I'll make it plain enough for him.

BRODIE. What do you want of me?

MOORE. Wot do I want of you? Now you speak sense. Leslie's is wot I want
of you. The Excise is wot I want of you. Leslie's to-night and the
Excise to-morrow. That's wot I want of you, and wot I thundering well
mean to get.

BRODIE. Damn you!

MOORE. Amen. But you've got your orders.

BRODIE (_with pistol_). Orders? hey? orders?

SMITH (_between them_). Deacon, Deacon!--Badger, are you mad?

MOORE. Muck! That's my motto. Wot I ses is, Has he got his orders or has
he not? That's wot's the matter with him.

SMITH. Deacon, half a tick. Humphrey, I'm only a light weight, and you
fight at twelve stone ten, but I'm damned if I'm going to stand still
and see you hitting a pal when he's down.

MOORE. Muck! That's wot I think of you.

SMITH. He's a cut above us, ain't he? He never sold his backers, did he?
We couldn't have done without him, could we? You dry up about his old
man, and his sister; and don't go on hitting a pal when he's knocked out
of time and cannot hit back, for, damme, I will not stand it.

MOORE. Amen to you. But I'm cock of this here thundering walk, and that
cove's got his orders.

BRODIE (_putting pistol on bench_). I give in. I will do your work for
you once more. Leslie's to-night and the Excise to-morrow. If that is
enough, if you have no more ... orders, you may count it as done.

MOORE. Fen larks. No rotten shirking, mind.

BRODIE. I have passed you my word. And now you have said what you came
to say, you must go. I have business here; but two hours hence I am at
your ... orders. Where shall I await you?

MOORE. What about that woman's place of yours?

BRODIE. Your will is my law.

MOORE. That's good enough. Now, Dook.

SMITH. Bye-bye, my William. Don't forget.

SCENE IX

BRODIE. Trust me. No man forgets his vice, you dogs, or forgives it
either. It must be done: Leslie's to-night and the Excise to-morrow. It
shall be done. This settles it. They used to fetch and carry for me, and
now ... I