Mr. Posket.
I can’t—I can’t. I don’t know what it may mean.
Cis.
[Digging him in the ribs again.] Go on—ch-uck!
Mr. Posket.
What, like this? [Returning the dig.] Ch-uck.
Cis.
That’s it, that’s it. Ha, ha! You are going it, Guv.
Mr. Posket.
Am I, Cis? Am I? [Waving his arm.] Hey!