“What's the matter with that?”
“Good for the crops.”
“Missis well?”
“So, so.”
“Wish mine was.”
“Wot's the matter with her?”
“Busy!” replied Joe, sinking his voice. Never 'ave a woman permanent; that's my experience.
The gardener did not reply, but stood staring at the lilac-bush below Joe Petty's face. He was a thin man, rather like an old horse.
“Do you think we can win this war?” resumed Joe.
“Dunno,” replied the gardener apathetically.