Dicey.
He knows me.
Chauffeur.
He's all right.
(Careful to keep out of sight of the shacks on the slope, Dicey and his companions whisper together near the fence. The Second Sentry, as though he had been neglecting his duty, goes out right, patrolling his beat)
First Sentry.
It's easy enough
To figure it out, I say. There's thirteen men
Returned to work in five weeks. In an hour
You calculate four hundred will return.
You fellows couldn't count nine pins for me.
(Dicey and his companions pull their hats down over their eyes, their collars up about their necks, and make briskly for the gate)
First Sentry.
(Starts back on his beat)