Horace. Oh, no, I can’t! This coat cost fifty pounds!
Messenger. Take it off!
(Horace about to obey, reluctantly.)
Second Man. Here’s mine, and welcome.
(Wounded man is lowered on to coat on ground.)
Wounded Man. Where’s Polly?
Polly. Here I am, Jim!
Wounded Man. Oh, Polly, what will become of you and the children?
Polly. Never you mind about us, Jim. You’re the one to worry about. Is a doctor coming?