HUNT (ASIDE TO MOORE, A LITTLE DRUNK). Ain't that 'ere Scotch
gentleman, your friend, too drunk to play, sir?

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?

RIVERS. Drive on! Sixes.

SMITH. Fire away, brave boys! (TO MOORE) It's Tally-ho-the-