HUNT. I suppose you mean you're a born i***t?
SMITH. What I mean is, Jerry, that you've broke my heart. I used to look up to you like a party might to Julius Caesar. One more of boyhood's dreams gone pop. (ENTER MOORE, L.)
HUNT (TO BOTH). Come, then, I'll take the pair, and be damned to you. Free pardon to both, fifty down and the Deacon out of the way. I don't care for you commoners, it's the Deacon I want.
JEAN (LOOKING OFF STOLIDLY). I think the kirks are scalin'. There seems to be mair people in the streets.
HUNT. O that's the way, is it? Do you know that I can hang you, my woman, and your fancy man a well?
JEAN. I daur say ye would like fine, Mr. Hunt; and here's my service to you. (GOING.)
HUNT. George, don't you be a tomfool, anyway. Think of the blowen here, and have brains f
