Isn’t he well?
Cob.
No. Sick in the night—afraid to call the matron; walked about in his bare feet; got chilled.
Geert.
Afraid of the Matron! Are you eating charity bread?
Cob.
It’s easy for you to talk, but if you disturb her, she keeps you in for two weeks.
Geert.
Poor devils—I don’t want to live to be so old.
Jo.