"Keep your 'ead in, my boy, when it rains. These 'ere coves 'll get a wetting that'll spoil their Sunday duds. They 'aven't no hart."
"No what?"
"No hart, no hingenuity. They hask first and then try to take it. We'll take what we want first—honly a little fresh air, Bobbs—and then we'll hask for it, as a matter of form. Hi'm horfully punctilious on forms, Bobbs."
Dobbs chuckled at the prospect of writing a letter to the warden, requesting his release from the safe distance of 3,000 miles.
"Hi ain't the fool of the family, ham Hi, Bobbs?"
"Who's that talking now, Dobbs?"
"The thick-mouthed cove wot gets choked with 'is hown Adam's happle? That's Quirk."
"Quirk?" It was the familiar voice he had often tried to place, but Floyd knew nobody named Quirk.
"What is he grumbling for? Is he a ring-leader among the men?"
"Ring-leader, ho, no. Ee lost 'is temper the first time ee saw 'is mug in the quicksilver and ee's never found it since."