ALBERT (_whose eyes are more staring than ever, his cheeks pendulous
and crimson, his general air that of a partly deflated air-cushion_).
Gawd's truth!

JINKS (_wagging his head_). Well, my old sprig o' mint, what's wrong
wi' you?

ALBERT. It ain't right. (_Sententiously_) It's agin natur'. Flesh an'
blood weren't made for this sort o' think.

JIM. It ain't flesh an' blood that can't stand it. It's Mind. Look at
old Pozzie. 'E's flesh an' blood, and don't turn an 'air! For myself
I'll go potty one o' these days.

JINKS (_slapping POZZIE on the back_). You don't take no notice, do
you, old lump o' duff?

POZZIE. Oi woulden moind if I got moy rations; but a chap can't keep a
good 'eart if 'e's got an empty stummick.

JIM (_sarcastically_). You keep yer 'eart in yer stomach, don't yer?
You ain't got no mind, you ain't. Jinks was born potty, an' the rest
of us'll all go potty except you. It's you an' yer Ally Sloper's
Cavalry what'll win the war, I don't think!

ALBERT. What I wants ter know is 'ow long the bleedin' war's a-goin'
ter last. If it goes on much longer I'll be potty if I ain't a gone
'un.