Second Boy. She'll have it out on you now, for woppin' of her when she wor a kid.
First Boy. She's a wopper herself now.
Third Boy. Mighty fine, with your shirt for a great-coat. He! he! he!
Fourth Boy. Mattie never kicks us poor innocent boys—cos we 'ain't got no mothers to take our parts. Boo hoo!
Enter JACK—his hands in his pockets.
Jack. What's the row, Bill?
Bill. Dunnow, Jack. Old chap collared me when I wasn't alludin' to him. He's after some Mattie or other. It can't be our Mattie. She wouldn't never have such a blazin' old parient as that.
Jack. Supposin' it was your Mattie, Bill, would you split, and let Scull-and-cross-bones nab her?
Bill. Would I? Would I 'and over our Mattie to her natural enemy? Did you ax it, Jack?
Jack. Natural enemy! My eye, Bill! what words you fakes!