"Yes, sor, he died wid consumption o' the bowels."
"But look here, Malone, your father died last year, for I remember giving you a pass and lending you a pound to go to the funeral."
"That was the wife's father."
"How many fathers have you got?"
"Wan, sor."
"But look here, Malone, you've had about a dozen grandfathers, fathers, mothers, sisters, and wives who have died since mobilisation. You're a bit of a liar—eh?"
"Ach, sure, sor, ye know I'm dacent. I've only been in the guardhouse twice this month."
"But why do you tell lies, Malone?"
"Well, sor, to tell ye the truth, Widow Riley's havin' a dance for the bhoys. She's a bit swate on me, an' she's asked me through."
"That's a different story. Why didn't you tell me that at first?"