Rivers. Will you sneeze, Mr. Deakin, sir?
Brodie. Thanks; I have all the vices, Captain. You must send me some of your rappee. It is passatively perfect.
Rivers. Mr. Deakin, I do myself the hanar of a sip to you.
Brodie. Topsy-turvy with the can!
Moore (aside to Smith). That made him wink.
Brodie. Your high and mighty hand, my Captain! Shall we dice—dice—dice? (Dumb-show between them.)
Ainslie (aside to Moore). I’m sayin’——?
Moore. What’s up now?
Ainslie. I’m no’ to gie him the coggit dice?
Moore. The square ones, rot you! Ain’t he got to lose every brass farden?