SERGEANT True! But a good drop o' stout, or better still "spirits" makes many things easy. 'Tis the seed o' pluck, so to speak. I'm feelin' just a little queer about the nerves. I think I'll have a drop o' "Wise's."
[Exit Mrs. Cotter. While she is away he fills his pipe.
MRS. COTTER (entering with drink)
That's like the noise of a row down the road.
SERGEANT Erra, let 'em row away! The Head is prowlin' about. Let him separate 'em. 'Tis about time he did somethin' for his livin'. 'Tis a damn shame to have the poor rate payers supportin' the likes of him.
MRS. COTTER
I wouldn't be talkin' like that, Sergeant.
SERGEANT Why wouldn't I talk? There's as many Head Constables as clergy in the country, an' only for the sergeants an' an odd constable 'tis unknown what 'ud happen!
MRS. COTTER
The Head is a dacent gentleman.
SERGEANT You don't know anythin' about him. Grumblin' about havin' to shave himself he does be now, an' only for havin' a bald patch on one side of his face, he'd let his whiskers grow altogether.
[The Head sneezes in the coal hole.
SERGEANT
What noise is that?