has ever been the 'umble petition of your
honest but well-meaning friend, Roman, and fellow-countryman? I know the
Deacon's your man, and I know he's a cut above G. S.; but he won't last,
Jean, and I shall.

JEAN. Ay, I'm muckle ta'en up wi' him; wha could help it?

SMITH. Well, and my sort don't grow on apple-trees, either.

JEAN. Ye're a fine, cracky, neebourly body, Geordie, if ye wad just let
me be.

SMITH. I know I ain't a Scotsman born.

JEAN. I dinna think sae muckle the waur o' ye even for that; if ye would
just let me be.

HUNT (_entering behind, aside_). (Are they thick? Anyhow, it's a second
chance.)

SMITH. But he won't last, Jean; and when he leaves you, you come to me.
Is that your taste in pastry? That's the kind of _h_article that I
present!

HUNT (_surprising them as in Tableau I_). Why, you're the very parties I
was looking for!

JEAN. Mercy me!

SMITH. Damn it, Jerry, this is unkind.

HUNT. (Now this is what I call a picter of good fortune.) Ain't it
strange I should have dropped across you comfortable and promiscuous
like this?

JEAN (_stolidly_). I hope ye're middling weel, Mr. Hunt? (_Going._) Mr.
Smith!

SMITH. Mrs. Watt, ma'am! (_Going._)

HUNT. Hold hard, George. Speaking as one lady's man to another, turn
about's fair play. You've had your confab, and now I'm going to have
mine. (Not that I've done with you; you stand by and wait.) Ladies
first, George, ladies first; that's the size of it. (_To JEAN, aside._)
Now, Mrs. Watt, I take it you ain't a natural fool?

JEAN. And thank ye kindly, Mr. Hunt.

SMITH (_interfering_). Jean...!

HUNT (_keeping him off_). Half a tick, George. (_To JEAN._) Mrs. Watt,
I've a warrant in my pocket. One, two, three: will you peach?

JEAN. Whatten kind of a word'll that be?

SMITH. Mum it is, Jean!

HUNT. _When_ you've done dancing, George! (_To JEAN._) It ain't a pretty
expression, my dear, I own it. "Will you blow the gaff?" is perhaps more
tenderer.

JEAN. I think ye've a real strange way o' expressin' yoursel'.

HUNT (_to JEAN_). I can't waste time on you, my girl. It's now or never.
Will you turn King's evidence?

JEAN. I think ye'll have made a mistake, like.

HUNT. Well, I'm...! (_Separating them._) (No, not yet; don't push me.)
George's turn now. (_To GEORGE._) George, I've a warrant in my pocket.

SMITH. As per usual, Jerry?

HUNT. Now I want King's evidence.

SMITH. Ah! so you came a cropper with _her_, Jerry. Pride h