'An s'pose she does want to?' said the Wheel Driver truculently.
'Wot's it got to do wi' you, anyway?'
With lips pursed tight and in stony silence the Gunner glared at him, and then, turning his shoulder, addressed himself deliberately to the Lead Driver.
'S'pose your missis . . .' he began, but got no further.
'He ain't got no missis; leastways, 'e ain't supposed to 'ave,' the
Wheel Driver interjected triumphantly.
That fact was well known to the Gunner, but had been forgotten by him in the stress of the moment. He ignored the interruption, and proceeded smoothly. 'S'pose your missis, if you 'ad one, w'ich you 'aven't, as I well knows, seein' me 'n' you walked out two sisters at Woolwich up to the larst night we was there. . . .'
The Wheel Driver chuckled.
'Thought you was on guard the las' night we was in Woolwich,' he said.
'Will you shut your 'ead an' speak when you're spoke to?' said the
Gunner angrily.
'Never mind 'im, chum. Wot about this Gif' business?'
'Well,' said the Gunner, picking his words carefully. 'If a man's wife or gel or sister or friend wants to send 'im some smokes they cuts this coo-pon, same's I've said, an' sends it up to the paper, wi' sixpence an' the reg'mental number an' name of the man the gift's to go to. An' the paper buys the 'baccy, gettin' it cheap becos o' buyin' tons an' tons, an' sends a packet out wi the chap's number an' name and reg'ment wrote on it. So 'e gets it. An' that's all.'