“Now then, Sweeny, whar are yes dhriven me too? Is it out of the redjmint amongst the officers yer shovin’ me?”
“Sullivan, don’t ye hear we’re to fix beenits?”
“Sarjent, jewel, wud yes ayse the shtrap of me baynit?”
“If ye prod me wid that agin; I’ll let dayloite into ye.”
The officer, reading, “No 23, James Phelan.”
No reply.
Officer again, “No. 23, James Phelan.”
Voice from the rank, “Shure, captain, and faix Phelan’s gone, he wint at the last depôt.”
“No. 40, Miles Corrigan.”