MRS. COTTER
Hard work isn't easy.
SERGEANT
True! But a good drop o' stout, or better still "spirits"
makes many things easy. 'Tis the seed o' pluck,
so to speak. I'm feelin' just a little queer about the
nerves. I think I'll have a drop o' "Wise's."
[_Exit Mrs. Cotter. While she is away he fills his pipe_.
MRS. COTTER (_entering with drink_)
That's like the noise of a row down the road.
SERGEANT
Erra, let 'em row away! The Head is prowlin' about.
Let him separate 'em. 'Tis about time he did somethin'
for his livin'. 'Tis a damn shame to have the
poor rate payers supportin' the likes of him.
MRS. COTTER
I wouldn't be talkin' like that, Sergeant.
SERGEANT
Why wouldn't I talk? There's as many Head Constables
as clergy in the country, an' only for the sergeants
an' an odd constable 'tis unknown what 'ud
happen!
MRS. COTTER
The Head is a dacent gentleman.
SERGEANT
You don't know anythin' about him. Grumblin' about
havin' to shave himself he does be now, an' only for
havin' a bald patch on one side of his face, he'd let
his whiskers grow altogether.
[_The Head sneezes in the coal hole_.
SERGEANT
What noise is that?
MRS. COTTER (_startled_)
That's only the cat in the coal hole.
SERGEANT (_leaving his chair and moves toward it_)
He must be suffocatin'.
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