Moore. You hold your jaw; that’s what’s the matter with you.
Ainslie. He’s waur nor he looks. He’s knockit the box aff the table.
Smith (picking up box). That’s the way we does it. Ten to one and no takers!
Brodie. Deuces again! More liquor, Mother Clarke!
Smith. Hooray our side! (Pouting out.) George and his pal for ever!
Brodie. Deuces again, by heaven! Another?
Rivers. Done!
Brodie. Ten more; money’s made to go. On with you!
Rivers. Sixes.
Brodie. Deuce-ace. Death and judgment? Double or quits?