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?