Tommy the Song. What way can you care him, Sibby? It's no way to have him lying out on the roadside under guano bags, like ourselves, and the rain coming down on him like it did last night. It's in hospital he'll be for the next month.
Charlie Ward. We'd never leave you if you could even walk. If we have to give you to the monks itself, we'd keep round the place to encourage you, only for the last business. We'll have to put two counties at least between us and Gortmore after what we're after doing.
Paul Ruttledge. Never mind, boys, they'll never insult a tinker again in Gortmore as long as the town's a town.
Charlie Ward. Dear knows! it breaks my heart to think of the fine times we had of it since you joined us. Why the months seemed like days. And all the fine sprees we had together! Now you're gone from us we might as well be jailed at once.
Paddy Cockfight. And how you took to the cocks! I believe you were a better judge than myself. No one but you would ever have fancied that black-winged cock—and he never met his match.
Paul Ruttledge. Ah! well, I'm doubled up now like that old cock of Andy Farrell's.
Paddy Cockfight. No, but you were the best warrant to set a snare that ever I came across.
Paul Ruttledge. [Sitting down with difficulty on the steps.] Yes; it was a grand time we had, and I wouldn't take back a day of it; but it's over now, I've hit my ribs against the earth and they're aching.
Sabina Silver. Oh! Paul, Paul, is it to leave you we must? And you never once struck a kick or a blow on me all this time, not even and you in pain with the rheumatism. [A clock strikes inside.
Charlie Ward. There's the clock striking. The monks will be getting up. We'd best be off after the others. I hear some noise inside; they'd best not catch us here. I'll stop and pull the bell. Be off with you, boys!