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the whores
Are you going far, queer fellow?
How's your middle leg?
Got a match on you?
Eh, come her till I stiffen it for you.
(He plodges through their sump towards the lighted street beyond. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the navvy and the two redcoats.)
the navvy
(Belching.) Where’s the bloody house?
the shebeenkeeper
Purdon street. Shilling a bottle of stout. Respectable woman.
the navvy
(Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward with them.) Come on, you British army!
private carr
(Behind his back.) He aint half balmy.
private compton
(Laughs.) What ho!
private carr
(To the navvy.) Portobello barracks canteen. You ask for Carr. Just Carr.
the navvy
(Shouts.)
We are the boys. Of Wexford.
private compton
Say! What price the sergeantmajor?
