took one-nine-five for that 'ere little two hundred you'd be a
disgrace to the profession.


TABLEAU III. MOTHER CLARKE'S

SCENE I

The Stage represents a room of coarse and sordid appearance:
settles, spittoons, etc.; sanded floor. A large table at back,
where AINSLIE, HAMILTON, and others are playing cards and
quarrelling. In front, L. and R. smaller tables, at one of which
are BRODIE and MOORE, drinking. MRS. CLARKE and women serving.

MOORE. You've got the devil's own luck, Deacon, that's what
you've got.

BRODIE. Luck! Don't talk of luck to a man like me! Why not say
I've the devil's own judgment? Men of my stamp don't risk - they
plan, Badger; they plan, and leave chance to such cattle as you
[and Jingling Geordie. They make opportunities before they take
them].

MOORE. You're artful, ain't you?

BRODIE. Should I be here else? When I leave my house I leave an
ALIBI behind me. I'm ill - ill with a jumping headache, and the
fiend's own temper. I'm sick in bed this minute, and they're all
going about with the fear of death on them lest they should
disturb the poor sick Deacon. [My bedroom door is barred and