Act 3 — SCENE II

Gaunt and Arethusa go out, L., carrying the candles. Stage dark. A distant clock chimes the quarters, and strikes one. Then, the tap-tapping of Pew’s stick is hear without; the key is put into the lock; and enter Pew, C., he pockets key, and is followed by Kit, with dark lantern

Pew. Quiet, you lubber! Can’t you foot it soft, you that has daylights and a glim?

Kit. All right, old boy. How the devil did we get through the door? Shall I knock him up?

Pew. Stow your gab (seizing his wrist). Under your breath!

Kit. Avast that! You’re a savage dog, aren’t you?

Pew. Turn on that glim.

Kit. It’s as right as a trivet, Pew. What next? By George, Pew, I’ll make your fortune.

Pew. Here, now, look round this room, and sharp. D’ye see a old sea-chest?

Kit. See it, Pew? why, d’ye think I’m blind?

Pew. Take me across, and let me feel of her. Mum; catch my hand. Ah, that’s her (feeling the chest), that’s the Golden Mary. Now, see here, my bo, if you’ve the pluck of a weevil in a biscuit, this girl is yours; if you hain’t, and think to sheer off, I’m blind, but I’m deadly.

Kit. You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head all the same. I’ll take threats from nobody, blind or not. Let’s knock up the Admiral and be done with it. What I want is to get rid of this dark lantern. It makes me feel like a housebreaker, by George.

Pew (seated on chest). You follow this. I’m sick of drinking bilge, when I might be rolling in my coach, and I’m dog-sick of Jack Gaunt. Who’s he to be wallowing in gold, when a better man is groping crusts in the gutter and spunging for rum? Now, here in this blasted chest is the gold to make men of us for life: gold, ay, gobs of it; and writin’s too—things that if I had the proof of ’em I’d hold Jack Gaunt to the grindstone till his face was flat. I’d have done it single-handed; but I’m blind, worse luck: I’m all in the damned dark here, poking with a stick—Lord, burn up with lime the eyes that saw it! That’s why I raked up you. Come, out with your iron, and prise the lid off. You shall touch your snack, and have the wench for nothing; ay, and fling her in the street, when done.

Kit. So you brought me here to steal did you?

Pew. Ay did I; and you shall. I’m a biter: I bring blood.

Kit. Now, Pew, you came here on my promise, or I’d kill you like a rat. As it is, out of that door! One, two, three (drawing his cutlass), and off!

Pew (leaping at his throat, and with a great voice). Help! murder! thieves!