Brodie. Am I?
Moore. We ain’t none of us got a stiver, that’s wot’s the matter with us.
Brodie. Is it?
Moore. Ay, strike me, it is! And wot we’ve got to do is to put up the Excise.
Smith. It’s the last plant in the shrubbery, Deakin, and it’s breaking George the gardener’s heart, it is. We really must!
Brodie. Must we?
Moore. Must’s the thundering word. I mean business, I do.
Brodie. That’s lucky. I don’t.
Moore. O, you don’t, don’t you?