MCCOY: Bring out yer dead.
SCOTTY: Here's one.
MCCOY: That'll be ninepence.
PRESTON: I'm not dead.
MCCOY: What?
SCOTTY: Nothing. There's your ninepence.
PRESTON: I'm not dead.
MCCOY: 'Ere, he says he's not dead.
SCOTTY: Yes he is.
PRESTON: I'm not.
MCCOY: He isn't.
SCOTTY: Well, he will be soon, he's very ill.
PRESTON: I'm getting better.
SCOTTY: No you're not, you'll be stone dead in a moment.
MCCOY: Well, I can't take him like that. It's against regulations.
PRESTON: I don't want to go on the cart.
SCOTTY: Oh, don't be such a baby.
MCCOY: I can't take him.
PRESTON: I feel fine.
SCOTTY: Oh, do me a favor.
MCCOY: I can't.
SCOTTY: Well, can you hang around for a couple of minutes? He won't be long.
MCCOY: I promised I'd be at the Robinsons'. They've lost nine today.
SCOTTY: Well, when's your next round?
MCCOY: Thursday.
PRESTON: I think I'll go for a walk.
SCOTTY: You're not fooling anyone, you know. Isn't there anything you could do?
PRESTON: I feel happy. I feel happy.
[McCoy glances up and down the street furtively, then silences Preston with his a whack of his club]
SCOTTY: Ah, thank you very much.
MCCOY: Not at all. See you on Thursday.
SCOTTY: Right.