MRS. COTTER
How do you feel now?

SERGEANT (wiping his mouth with a large old handkerchief) ’Tis gone!  I mean the bone.  I feel meself again.

MRS. COTTER
I’m glad of that. (Looking at clock) ’Tis gone half-past
ten, Sergeant.

SERGEANT
Plenty o’ time.  We’ll be a long time dead, an’ happy
I hope.

MRS. COTTER
Amen!

SERGEANT
’Tis my belief that we should all try to do good while
we’re alive.

MRS. COTTER
There’s a lot o’ good people in the world, Sergeant.

SERGEANT There is, ma’am, but nearly every one o’ them thinks that they’re better than what they are.  That’s what annoys me.

MRS. COTTER
Sure ‘tis imagination that keeps the world movin’.

SERGEANT
Yes, an’ ambition.  All the same, ’tis a good job that
people can’t see themselves as they really are.

MRS. COTTER
They wouldn’t believe that they were themselves if
they could.

SERGEANT
I suppose not.

MRS. COTTER
Won’t ye come up to the fire in the sittin’-room?

SERGEANT
Don’t be worryin’ about me.  I’m all right.  That was
good stout.

MRS. COTTER
The best!

SERGEANT ‘Tis a cure for nearly everythin’.  Only for takin’ a little now an’ again, I’d never be able to stand all the hardships o’ me profession.

MRS. COTTER
Hard work isn’t easy.

SERGEANT True!  But a good drop o’ stout, or better still “spirits” makes many things easy.  ‘Tis the seed o’ pluck, so to speak.  I’m feelin’ just a little queer about the nerves.  I think I’ll have a drop o’ “Wise’s.”

[Exit Mrs. Cotter.  While she is away he fills his pipe.

MRS. COTTER (entering with drink)
That’s like the noise of a row down the road.

SERGEANT Erra, let ’em row away!  The Head is prowlin’ about.  Let him separate ’em.  ‘Tis about time he did somethin’ for his livin’.  ’Tis a damn shame to have the poor rate payers supportin’ the likes of him.

MRS. COTTER
I wouldn’t be talkin’ like that, Sergeant.

SERGEANT Why wouldn’t I talk?  There’s as many Head Constables as clergy in the country, an’ only for the sergeants an’ an odd constable ’tis unknown what ’ud happen!

MRS. COTTER
The Head is a dacent gentleman.

SERGEANT You don’t know anythin’ about him.  Grumblin’ about havin’ to shave himself he does be now, an’ only for havin’ a bald patch on one side of his face, he’d let his whiskers grow altogether.

[The Head sneezes in the coal hole.

SERGEANT
What noise is that?

MRS. COTTER (startled)
That’s only the cat in the coal hole.

SERGEANT (leaving his chair and moves toward it) He must be suffocatin’.  I’ll open the door an’ let him out.  Under the grate he should be a cold night like this. (Opens the door and sees the Head) Heavens be praised!  ’Tis the Head himself!