Wounded Man. Oh, Polly, you’ll have a bad time with the kiddies till I’m about again.
Polly. Don’t you take on, Jim. We’ll pull through somehow, though I don’t know how. (Cries.)
Messenger. Help her.
Horace. I can’t. I have only notes.
Messenger. Give them to her.
Horace. I’ve nothing less than a tenner.
Messenger. Give all that you have.
Horace. All that I have? Absurd! I can’t! I won’t!
Messenger. How much have you?