<3ACT ONE>3
<1The Morning>1
<1The action takes place in the small room adja->1
<1cent to the Design Room of a carpet factory. It>1
<1is here that the powder colours used by the>1
<1designers in the preparation of the paper>1
<1patterns is ground and dished. The powder>1
<1paint is prepared on marble slabs by the appren->1
<1tice designers, who are known as "Slab Boys".>1
<1Large palette knives are used to mix the powder>1
<1colour with water and gum arabic (the gum pre->1
<1vents the paint from flaking off the patterns).>1
<1The individual colours vary in "grittiness", that>1
<1is it may take several hours of grinding to pro->1
<1duce a small pot of rose pink whereas yellow>1
<1ochre may take only twenty minutes to half an>1
<1hour. The gum arabic comes in crystal form and>1
<1has to be strained through muslin in the gum>1
<1making process to remove impurities. The Slab>1
<1Boys may serve anything from a year to four>1
<1years in the Slab Room before (if ever) going>1
<1onto a desk as a young Designer.>1
<1A door leads from the Slab Room to the Design>1
<1Room. There is a sink against the back wall.>1
<1Above the sink there is a window. A large>1
<1poster of James Dean is pinned to the back>1
<1wall. There is a cupboard in one corner. There>1
<1are three marble slabs situated at strategic>1
<1points in the room. A motley selection of jars>1
<1sits on shelves against the back wall.>1
<1The year is 1957. It is a Friday.>1
<1Enter "Spanky" Farrell. He is dressed in a brown>1
<1dustcoat heavily covered with paintstains (he>1
<1has inherited it from a previous inmate). He>1
<1wears drainpipe trousers (14inches at the turnup),>1
<1crepe soled shoes, and sports a "Tony Curtis">1
<1hairdo with D.A. He goes to slab and starts>1
<1grinding p aint.>1
<1Enter Hector a few minutes later. He is no->1
<1where near as fashionably attired but does have>1
<1on a similar dustcoat which>1 is <1much too large>1
<1for him. He is carrying a cream coloured port->1
<1able radio. His hair is parted at the side. He>1
<1wears National Health spectacles.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Heh, where d'ye get the wireless, Heck? Never seen ye
  wi' that this mornin'.
<2HECTOR:>2  Hud it planked doon the bog. Didnae want you-know-
  who tae see it. <1Sets radio down on counter.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Dis it work? <1Picks up radio.>1 Gie's a shoat. Where's
  Luxembourg? <1Twiddles knobs.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Watch it, Spanky. Yull brek it. Ye cannae get Luxem-
  bourg . . . s'no daurk enough.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aw, d'ye need a daurk wireless? Ah never knew that.
  Mebbe if we pull the aerial oot a bit . . . <1Does so. It>1
  <1comes away in his hand.>1 OOps.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ya swine! Luk whit yuv done. Yuv went an' broke it.
  Ah told ye.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ach, that's easy fixed. <1Sticks aerial back in.>1 There ye
  go. See? <1Finds station.  "A White Sport Goat" sung by>1
  <1Terry Dene comes on.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Och, gie's it. <1Takes radio. Places in on counter.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Could ye no've brought in a mair modern wireless,
  Hector? Listen tae that. That's dunkey's oota date.
<2HECTOR:>2  It's Jack Payne's programme.
<2SPANKY:>2  It's "Uncle Dunky's Oota Date Show, kids! Brung to
  youse by Pappy Purdic's Rindless Pancakes. Pap wan on
  your turntable . . . an' hear a loada pap like this."
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah like it.
<2SPANKY:>2  That's cos you're a poultice.
<1 Enter Phil in street clothes and carring a portfolio>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Mornin', Phil. Yur early the day. S'only hauf eleven . . .
  <2PHIL:>2  S'anybody been lookin' fur us?
<2SPANKY:>2  Wullie Curry wis in lookin' fun that lemon yella ye
  promised but Ah said ye'd diarroeah an' ye'd take a big
  dish ae it doon tae him later oan.
<2PHIL:>2  That's awright then. <1Changes into dustcoat.>1 Who belangs
  tae the wireless?
<2HECTOR:>2  It's mines.
  <1Enter Willie Curry>1
CURRY :  Ah, there you are, laddie. Where have you been this
  morning, eh? Farrell there said you were unwell.
<2PHIL:>2  Er .. .yes . ..
<2CURRY:>2  Come on, McCann, what was up with you?
<2PHIL:>2  Er . . . Ah hud a touch ae the drawhaw . . .
CURRY :  The what??
<2PHIL:>2  The diorawhaw . . . y'know . . . the skitters. It wis very
  bad.
<2CURRY:>2  Why didn't you come to me earlier this morning? I
  could have got Nurse to have a look at you . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ah don't think she wid've thanked ye fur that, Mr.
  Curly. It's no' whit ye'd caw a spectator sport . . .
<2CURRY:>2  In future you'll report all illnesses to me . . . first thing.
  How am I supposed to keep tabs on you Slab Boys if I
  don't know where the devil you are?
<2PHIL:>2  Ah wis doon the lavvies.
<2CURRY:>2  You wouldn't get much done down there . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ah widnae say that, Mr Corrie . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Godstruth. If I'd had you chaps out in Burma . . .
  Diarreaoh? There were men in my platoon fighting the
  Japanese with dyssentry.
<2SPANKY:>2  S'at how we managed tae beat them?
<2CURRY:>2  Less of your damp cheek, Farrell. A couple of years in
  the forces would knock some damp sense into your
  heads . . . And what have I told you about bringing that
  bloody contraption in? Eh?
<2SPANKY:>2  What?
<2CURRY:>2  You know damn fine, laddie. I've warned you enough
  times . . <1.Picks up radio>1 . . . How do you expect to get
  any work done with those damned pagan rhythms
  pounding out . . .
<2SPANKY and PHIL:>2  Oompah - - - oompah . . .
<2CURRY>2 :  Well, I'm confiscating this gadget. Whoever owns it can
  ask Mr. Barton for it back. I'll be calling back in five
  minutes and if you lot are still lounging about you're
  for the high jump. Now, get on with it, d'you hear?
  <1Exits.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Chirpy, this mornin', eh?
<2CURRY:>2  <1Poking head round door.>1 Five minutes . . . <1disappears.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Ma bloody wireless. Ah'll get murdered. How's ma Maw
  gonnae hear whit happens tae the Archers?
<2PHIL:>2  That pig Walter gooses Doris in "The Bull" an' Dan gets
  oan his high hoarse . . . throws a punch, then feels
  sheepish when Walter ducks an' he smacks Doughy Hood
  right in the tattie scones . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Shuttit, ya cow.
<1Enter Jack Hogg with a youth in university>1
<1blazer.>1
<2JACK:>2  Morning, you chaps just showing the new lad round the
  Design Room. This is our last stop.
<2SPANKY:>2  Natch.
<2JACK:>2  Alan Downie . . .George Farrell. Known to one and all
  as "Spanky".
<2SPANKY>2 :  'Cept you, Jack. Hullo, Archie.
<2JACK:>2  And this is Philip McCann.
<2PHIL:>2  <1Dodging aside.>1 Hiya, Andy.
<2JACK:>2  And last, but by all means least . . . Hector.
<2HECTOR:>2  Pleased to meet you, Alan.
<2JACK:>2  This is the Slab Room where the powder paint is ground
  and dished for the Designers . . . you saw the paper
  patterns out there. The lads here divvy up some colour
  . . . rose pink, magenta, persian yellow . . . dump it onto
  these marble slabs . . . add some gum arabic . . . do we
  have some gum arabic, anyone? <1There is no response.>1
  Then it's just a matter of grinding . . . to get rid of the
  impurities . . . <1demonstrates.>1 Okay? Would someone like
  to dish that? <1There is no response.>1 Quite a diff from the
  studio, eh? You'll be relieved to hear you won't be
  having too much contact with these unsalubrious sur-
  roundings. You'll be helping Bobby Sinclair. His depart-
  ment's a bit more wholesome than this one . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  When ur ye off, Jack? No' wantin' tae rush ye ur that. . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, Plookychops . . . them boils ae yours is highly
  smittal.
<2JACK:>2  Here, there's no call to get personal. <1Advances on Phil.>1
<2PHIL:>2  <1Drawing back in alarm.>1 Keep away fae me! Hector . . .
  fling us awer the Dettol.
<2JACK:>2  Jealousy will get you nowhere, McCann. Just because
  I'm on a desk ...
<2SPANKY:>2  S'a bloody operatin' table ye want tae be oan! That face
  .  .  . yeugh!
<2PHIL:>2  Ye can pit in fur plastic surgery, ye know . . . oan the
  National Health.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ur a "Pimplectomy".
<2PHIL:>2  It'd only take aboot six month . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  . . . an' a team a surgeons . . .
<2PHIL:>2  .  .  .wi'pliers.
<2JACK:>2  I'll have to go now, Alan . . . Sorry. There's a couple of
  trials I've got to have a look at. I'll be back. The Boss
  would like you to show the chap here what goes on in
  this place . . .in the way of work . .. so . . . See you
  later.
  <1Exits.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Get a brush an' some rid paint, Heck.
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit fur?
<2PHIL:>2  Tae paint a cross oan the door, stupit . . .
  . . . tae warn the villagers.
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit villagers?
<2SPANKY>2 Och,shittit
<2PHIL:>2  Right, son . . . whit'd ye say yur name wis again?
<2ALAN:>2  Alan . - - Alan Downie.
<2PHIL>2  Okay,Alma...let's show ye some ae the mysteries ae
  the Slab Room. Mr. Farrell . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Yes, Mr. McC?
<2PHIL:>2  I'm just showing Arthur here something of the intra-
  casies of wur work. I wunner if you an' the boy there
  wid staun tae the wan side an' keep oot ae the road?
<2SPANKY:>2  Certainly. Hector. <1Beckons Hector off to the side.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Thankyou. Right, Alec. <1Leads him over to sink .>1 . . this
  . . .is what we cry a sink. S--I--N--K . . . Now,I don't
  expect you to pick up all these terms immediately but
  you'll soon get the hang of it. And this . . <1.grabs>1
  <1Hector's lapels>1 . . . is what's called a "Slab Boy" . . . You
  say it . . . <1No response from Alan>1 . . . <1just a slightly>1
  <1embarrassed smile .>1 . . Slab Boy . . . good. And here . . .
  <1Grabs Spanky's lapels . . .>1 is another one . . . another
  one? Good! Note the keen eye . . .the steady hand . . .
  the firm set of the jaw . . . they're forced up under
  cucumber frames, you know . . . Note, too . . . <1Lifts up>1
  <1Spanky's coat tails>1 . . . the arse hingin' oot the troosers
  . . .This last because the Slab Boy . . .you say it . . .
  <1No response except black look from Alan>1 . . . Good!
  The Slab Boy is expected to put in a full eight hours
  sweated labour a week for a few measly shillings . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  . . . an' aw the gum crystals he can eat.
<2PHIL:>2  Hence the firm set of the jaw. Thankyou, Mr. Farrell.
<2SPANKY:>2  Don't mention it.
<2PHIL:>2  Don't you wish you was one of this happy breed,
  Andrew? Grinding out the spanking shades for our
  Designer chappies . . . so that they, in their turn, can
  churn out those gay little rugs that one sees in our
  more select stores. Don't you wish you was a Slab Boy?
<2SPANKY:>2  <1With feeling.>1 Oh, aye . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Well, Amos?
<2HECTOR:>2  Aye, ye don't know whit yur missin'.
<2SPANKY:>2  Nae'er ye dae . . . ya lucky bastart.
<2ALAN:>2  I wouldn't mind working in here . . . it sounds fun, but
  Mr. Barton's putting me in with Bobby Sinclair.
<2PHIL:>2  Much ye gettin'?
<2ALAN:>2  Three pounds a week was suggested.
<2SPANKY:>2  Three poun' a week?
<2ALAN:>2  Round about that.
<2SPANKY:>2  That's mair than the three ae us pit thegither.
<2PHIL:>2  Is Wallace Bathroom your uncle ur whit?
<2HECTOR:>2  Auld Barton . . .the Boss.
<2ALAN:>2  What d'you mean? Course he isn't.
<2SPANKY:>2  Must be some kinda blood relation tae start ye aff at
  three poun' . . .
<2ALAN:>2  It doesn't seem an awful lot to me. I've got a young
  brother who's earning that and he's only sixteen.
<2PHIL:>2  Whit is he? A brain surgeon? Three quid? Wheeewww . ..
<2SPANKY:>2  Much did ye get in yur last joab?
<2ALAN:>2  I haven't had a job before, I'm at the Uni.
  <1The Slab Boys exchange quizical looks.>1
  University. I've only just left school.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit age ur you?
<2ALAN:>2  Nineteen.
<2PHIL:>2  Did ye get kept back a loat?
<2ALAN:>2  Stayed on to get my Highers.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit school did ye go tae?
<2ALAN:>2  The John Neilston.
SPANKY :  Aw, another wan.
<2ALAN:>2  Oh, did you go there too?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw, Albert . . . whit Spanky means is yur another wan
  ae them . . . a Mason . . .ur yur auld man is. Place is
  fulla Masons . . . 'cept fur me an' Spanks.
<2HECTOR:>2  Don't listen tae them, Alan. Thur always gaun oan aboot
  Masons. Jimmy Roabertson's a Mason . . . Bobby
  Sinclair's a Mason . . . Wullie Curry's a effin Mason . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  He's a effin Oaringeman.
<2HECTOR:>2  Well, if everybody's either a effin Mason urra effin
  Oaringeman how come you an' Phil's workin' here? Eh?
  Tell us that . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah lied aboot ma age an' Phil there swore tae Waddell
  Bathtaps he'd flush his Rosaries doon the pan if he could
  only get tae be a Slab Boy. Aw,naw . . .when Mr.
  Bathtub took me intae his office, grasped ma haun . . .
  strangely but firmly . . . an' offered me wan poun'
  seventeen an' six a week . . . Ah went straight hame an'
  set fire tae ma scapulas . . .
<2PHIL:>2  An' don't think it wisnae sare. Ah wis there when he
  done it. Soon as Father Durkin heard we wur workin'
  here . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Phil's Auntie Fay goat beat up by the Children of Mary...
<2PHIL:>2  Gie'd hur a right doin' . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  She hud tae go tae Lourdes . . .
<2PHIL:>2  An' the entire faimily wur refused entry tae Carfin
  Crotto . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  An' that really hurt. They wur oot there every Sunday
  . . . doon oan thur knees . . .
<2PHIL:>2  . . . draggin' the ponds fur money.
<2SPANKY:>2  Huvvin' a quick burst oan the beads . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ready? <1Together.>1 In the name of the Father, and of the
  Son .. .
<2HECTOR:>2  Aw, cut it oot, you pair. Don't pay any attention tae
  them loonies, Alan . . .
ALAN.  But I'm not a Mason...honestly...I don't know
  what you're talking about.
<2PHIL:>2  Aw,naw? Tell us this, then . . .When ye wur in at
  Wardle's oaffice this moarnin' ye shook hauns, didn't
  ye?
<2ALAN:>2  Yes, but . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  An did it feel like ye wur in the grip of a man that was
         throwing a mild epileptic fit...?
<2ALAN:>2  I don't really see . . .
<2PHIL:>2  An' did he gie yur bahookey a wee pat as ye went oot?
<2ALAN:>2  I don't really think . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  An' said ye'd be workin' wi' Bobby Sinclair?
<2ALAN:>2  Yes, but . . .
<2PHIL:>2  At three quid a week?

<2ALAN:>2  Yes, but . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Told ye he wis a Mason!
<2PHIL:>2  Definitely!
<2SPANKY:>2  Furst day us poor sods wis handed a packet a nuts an'
  telt tae report tae the Slab.
<2PHIL:>2  No' even a pat oan the bum.
<2SPANKY:>2  Look at that boy there. <1Grabs Hector.>1 He wis gonna be
  a Capucci monk. Look at him noo!
<2HECTOR:>2  Hing aff! <1To Alan>1 Ah went tae Johnstone High. Ah'm
  no' a bloody Pape!
<2PHIL:>2  Nae sense denyin' it, Heck son. Show the boy yur
  kneecaps. Thur aw caved in fae prayin' tae St Wilton
  furra desk! Prodissant school . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Aw, shuttup! Yur always gaun oan aboot gettin' oot the
  Slab an' oantae a desk. Some hope! Jack Hogg wis four
  years in here afore he even goat a sniff ae a desk. We've
  aw goat a couple a years yet.
<2SPANKY:>2  Thur wis a loat mair Designers in Jackie's day . . . Luk at
  it noo. Gavin's away tae Australia . . . Billy McPhail's
  in Kidderminster . . . an' Tommy Devine's goat $(T.B.)$
  Thur's hunners a desks oot there . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Aye, but they'll bring in somebody fae ootside . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Well, Ah'm askin' Wullie if thur's a desk fur me . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ask if thur's two.
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit aboot three?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ach, Heck . . . why don't ye resign yursel ? You re in
  the Slab Room till Vince Eager gets intae the Tap
  Twinty.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah wis only . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah can see ye noo, Hector . . . unemployable . . . scoffin'
  Indian ink wi' the auld men fae the Moadel . . .
<2PHIL:>2  . . . gaun roon the doors wi' claes pegs . . . Chokin' weans
  fur thur sweetie money . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  A flopperoonie! So don't go gettin' any big ideas aboot
  askin' furra desk, kiddo . . . you're lucky tae be in a joab.
<2PHIL:>2  Heh, Spanks . . . ye goat a pinsil?
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit'd An be daein' wi' a pinsil?
<2PHIL:>2  <1Taking out newspaper.>1 Aw . . . come on . . .
<2ALAN:>2  Here, you can borrow my pen . . . <1Takes out Parker>1
  <1Fifty-One.>1
<2PHIL:>2  <1Grabbing pen.>1 Gee! A Parker Fifty-Wan! Whit's a slip ae
  a boy daein' wi' a pen like this?
<2ALAN:>2  Belongs to my Dad, actually. He lets me borrow it
  sometimes.
<2PHIL:>2  Better no' brek it then. <1Starts writing.>1 Aaach . . . the
  nib's fell aff!
<2ALAN:>2  <1Panic stricken.>1 Jeeesus Christ!
<2PHIL:>2  Ah wis only kiddin'. An less ae the bad language, you.
           A bit of decorum, sonny boy.
<2SPANKY:>2  That's right, Phil . . . you tell the young turk. Don't
  think ye can let rip wi' that kinda talk in the Slab Room.
  We fought two World Wars fur the likes a you. That lad
  there loast a coupla legs at Wipers . . . so that the world
  wid be a cleaner, better place . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Where a man could walk tall . . .legs ur nae legs . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Show him where the Gerry grenade went right up yur . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Indeed I wull nut! I only every display that oan Poppy
  Day. <1Peruses newspaper.>1 Ach, Ah'm no' in the prize-
  winners this week either. Tch . . . Heh, know whit the
  furst prize is this week?
SPANKY :  Naw, whit?
<2PHIL:>2  <1Reads.>1 "Furst prize . . . Two matching hampsters."
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh? Hamsters? They allowed tae gie away livestock?
<2PHIL:>2  Whit ye talkin' aboot? "Two matching picnic hampsters
  . . . handy for beach and country walks" Nae mention
  a livestock . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ach, it's the Paisley Express . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Here's wan . . . twinty three across . . . Says it's an
  "anagram". W hit's an anagram?
<2SPANKY:>2  S'like a radiogram but no' as high aff the grun. How d'ye
  no gie up, Phil? Yur never gonnae win it . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Came pretty close last time. Three oota forty-eight. Ah'll
  win them hampsters yet.
<2SPANKY:>2  An' whit ye gonnae dae if ye dae?
<2PHIL:>2  Breed them an' train the pups tae turn a big wheel an'
  grind up aw this bloody paint. Heh, where's Sadie wi'
  that trolley? Ah'm ravenous. Alvarro, whit time is it?
<2ALAN:>2  <1Consulting chronometer>1 Almost quarter past . . .
<2PHIL:>2  An' whit speed ur we daein'? You'll gie yursel lockjaw
  humphin' that aboot . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye gaun tae the canteen the day, Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Nae option . . . nae pieces.
<2ALAN:>2  What sort of menu do they have?
<2PHIL:>2  They huvnae goat a menu, son. S'aw chalked up oan a big
  blackboard. Thur's yur "Scotch Pie Hawaiian' . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Yur "Link Tartare" . . .
<2PHIL:>2  "Saps in a Basket" . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Bit messy that . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ur if ye really want somethin' special . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  "Tortoi a la King".
<2PHIL:>2  Ye eat it oot its shell.
<2ALAN:>2  I malight give that a try . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Healthy appetite, the boy . . .
<2ALAN:>2  What are all those jars and things up there?
<2PHIL:>2  Gosh, Alfred, I thought you'd never ask! <1Crosses to shelf>1
  <1and takes downjar.>1 This yin here contains the mortal
  remains of one Joe McBride, the oldest Slab Boy in the
  long history of this illustrious company. Going on for
  eighty four was Joe when he goat word that he wis tae
  start oan a desk. He'd been in the Slab Room, man and
  beast, fur nigh on sixty years . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Sixty five.
<2PHIL:>2  Thankyou . . . as I was saying, Aldo . . . they eventually
  pit the poor aul' bugger oantae a desk . . . made him a
  designer. The shock of course wis too much fur the
  elderly chap. When the cleaners arrived oan the Monday
  mornin' they fun the veteran Slab Boy slumped over his
  newly aquired an' greatly prized desk . . . stone dead!
  His hoary auld pate in a jar . . . a freshly ground jar of
  indigo. An' ye know whit they say, Arthur . . .
ALAN :  <1Wearily.>1 What's that?
<2PHIL,SPANKY and HECTOR:>2  When you indigo . . . you indigo!
  <1Enter Jack Hogg.>1
<2JACK:>2  Hullo, Alan. Sorry I took so long. Bit of bother with one
  of the trials. Arc you ready for a recce round the rug-
  works?
<2ALAN:>2  That would be interesting . . . I'll just get my pen . . .
  <1Takes it from Phil's pocket.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Mind ye don't get loast doon there, kid. If ye don't get
  in an' oot quick the herries eat ye alive . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Like pirhanas . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ach, yull be awright wi' Jackie Boy there. Nane ae the
  lassies go near him.
<2SPANKY:>2  They aw dive unner the looms as soon as they see his
  kisser.
<2PHIL:>2  Big Jinty says it's like somebody hut him wi' a bag a
  hunners an' thoosans.
<2JACK:>2  I'm going to ignore all that. I don't wish to bandy words
  with the likes of you. Ready, Alan?
  <1Exeunt.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  An' we don't wish tae bandy legs wi' the likes a you,
  Toarnface.
<2PHIL:>2  Heh, Spanks . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye . . . whit?
<2PHIL:>2  D'ye think gaun aff yur heid's catchin'?
<2SPANKY:>2  Like crabs . . . ur Jack's plooks?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw, Ah'm serious. D'ye think it is?
<2SPANKY:>2  How? Who dae ye know that's aff thur heid apart fae
  . . . ? <1Pause.>1 S 'no' yur Maw again, is it?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye . . . took hur away last night.
<2SPANKY:>2  Christ.
<2PHIL:>2  She wisnae aw that bad either . . . no' fur hur, that is.
  Aw she done wis pit in the Co-operative windaes an' run
  up the street wi' hur herr oan fire.
<2SPANKY:>2  S'at no' normal in Feegie?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, but that's mainstly the drink. Perfectly straight-
  furrit. Jist quietly get oan wi' batterin' the weans...
  kickin' up merry hell every Setterday night . . . knifin'
  the inlaws . . . pittin' the heid oan bus conductors . . .
  but ma Aul' Dear . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Long'll she be in this time?
<2PHIL:>2  Usual six weeks, Ah suppose. Furst week tied tae a
  rubber mattress . . . next five wired up tae a generator . ..
<2SPANKY:>2  That's shockin'.
<2PHIL:>2  That's when we get in tae see hur. When she's undergoin'
  that $(S.S.E.B.)$ treatment. Never knew us the last time.
  Kept blessin' hursel' wi' the Lucozade an' askin' ma
  Faither if he wis hame oan leave.
  Thur bones go saft, ye know. Ye haud ma Maw's hauns
  . . . an' hur herr goes dead straight. They always cut it
  short in that place . . . pit a kurdy grip . . .jist there . . .
  Looks like aw the other loonies . . . gie hur ankle socks.
  God, Ah'm no' lookin' forward tae gaun in. Whit dae ye
  talk aboot fur an 'oor an' a hauf . . . wi' yur Maw? Ma
  aul man? He's hopeless. Thinks it's like dyptheria ur
  that. "The doactors is daein' thur best, Annie. Yull be
  hame soon. Takin' that medecine they gie ye?"
  Medecine? An injection a benzadrine if they fa' asleep
  an' a good batterin' if they don't. He's expectin' ma
  Maw tae be sittin' up in bed wi' rosy cheeks knittin' "Get
  Well" cards fur everybody at hame.
<2SPANKY:>2  Hud yese much bother last night? When they took hur
  away?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw . . . gie'd hur ajag tae knock hur oot.
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
<2PHIL:>2 so they could sign hur in as a "voluntary patient".
  <1Enter Curry very angry. Carrying paper pattern.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Who's responsible for this, eh? <1Holds up paper.>1 Come
  on! Which one of you geniuses is responsible for this
  mess?
<2SPANKY:>2  S'no' us that dae them, Mr. Curlew. S'them oot there wi'
  the coallers an' ties. We only grind the colour . . .
<2CURRY:>2  That is precisely what you don't do, laddie, and don't
  try and get smart with me. Young upstart . . . Look at
  this paper . . . just look at it! Feel that! Go on, feel it.
  S'like damned roughcast! Who ground these shades? Or,
  should I say, who didn't grind them? This colour's just
  been thrown onto a slab willy-nilly, whisked round a
  couple of times and dished. No damned gum, nothing.
  It's a disgrace, that's what it is! What do you bunch get
  up to in here? Eh? It's more like a damned rest home for
  retired beatniks than a Slab Room. Things were a
  damned sight different in my day, I can tell you. If we
  didn't grind the powder colour to a cream, add the exact
  amount of freshly made gum we damned soon heard
  about it! Too well off, you lot. I remember when I
  started in the Slab . . . twelve and six a fortnight . . . and
  we regarded it as a privilege. We were learming a trade.
<2PHIL:>2  Whit trade wis that, Mr. Collie?
<2CURRY:>2  Any more cheek out of you, McCann, and you'll be up
  in front of Mr. Barton before you can say "Axminster
  Broadloom"!
<2PHIL:>2  Oh . . .
<2CURRY:>2  And that doesn't just apply to you. I want to see some
  solid work being done in this department from now on,
  d'you hear? I've had nothing but complaints from the
  Design Room all week. Those people out there are
  getting pretty cheesed off with the abysmal standard of
  paint coming off these slabs. And what have I told you
  about smoking? Miss Walkinshaw found two dogends in
  the Rose Pink yesterday! Not just one. Two!! What've
  you got to say to that, eh?
<2SPANKY:>2  They wur meant tae be in the Emerald Green.
<2CURRY:>2  This Slab used to be my pride and joy. Not any more.
  Jimmy Robertson . . . out there . . .Jimmy Robertson
  was showing Mr. Barton a paper . . . a contract persian
  for Canada . . . he held the pattern up and his scrolls
  dropped off! No bloody gum! I want to see a very  "
  definite improvement. Okay? Right now, get on with
  it. That colour cabinet out there's half empty . . .
<2SPANKY>2  It wis hauf full this mornin' . . .
<2CURRY:>2  I want those slabs glowing red hot...or there'll be
        trouble. Big trouble! I'll be back
  <1Exits.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  D'ye think Ah should've asked him furra desk, Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, ye might've been lucky an' goat yur books . . .
  <1Enter Curry.>1
<2CURRY:>2  What did you say was wrong with you this morning,
  McCann?
<2PHIL:>2  Er . . . Christ . . . em . . . er . . . severe dee-oh-reh-ha . . .
  ha...of the bot.
<2CURRY:>2  Well, frankly, I don't believe you. There's been a great
  deal of swinging the lead among the younger set in this
  damned place . . . not to mention latecoming. You'd
  better pull your socks up. I'm putting a report into Mr.
  Barton and you, McCann, are at the top of my list. What
  little time you spend on these premises is not being
  utilised to the full . . . get me? In other words you're
  a shyster, laddie! And you can wipe that silly grin off,
  Farrell. You're in the report too.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit fur? Whit've Ah done?
<2CURRY:>2  Like your pal there as little as you think you can get
  away with. WelI, I'm not standing for it. That cabinet
  out there speaks for itself.
<2PHIL:>2  <1A side.>1 Christ . . . talkin' furniture.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah'm no' supposed tae fill it masel'. Whit aboot them?
  Whit aboot Hector? Yuv never said nothin' tae him.
<2CURRY:>2  Yes, McKenzie . . . I'll see you later in my office.
  <1Exits.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Thanks a bloody lot, Spanky! Whit'd ye go an' say that
  fur? Yur a rotten big bastart, so ye ur!
<2PHIL:>2  God, Ah widnae like tae be in your shoes, Heck. Phew
  . . . must be real serious. Aye, Spanky, ye must admit . .
  it wis a bitlousy ...
<2SPANKY:>2  Aw, shut yur face! Ah'm buggert if Ah'm gonnae cairry
  the can fur the colour cabinet bein' empty . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Hauf empty. Don't exaggerate.
<2SPANKY:>2  Hauf empty well. S'ho' majoab . . .
<2PHIL:>2  But ye didnae need tae . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Shuttup, okay? <1Pause.>1 S'last time Ah make excuses fur
  you.
<2PHIL:>2  Naebody asked ye tac make excuses. Ah can luk efter
  masel'. <1Pause.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit wis wrang ye wur late, anyhow?
<2PHIL:>2  She hut the polis wi' the alarm cloak . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  They wur there an' aw?
<2PHIL:>2  They hud a phone call aboot the Co windaes . . . they
  knew where tae come. S'the thurd time . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  She no'like the Co then?
<2HECTOR:>2  We get aw wur claes fae there.
<2SPANKY>2 :  Shuttit, shorty!
<2PHIL:>2  Somethin' tae dae wi' a lovat suit oor Jim goat. When
  we goat it hame thur wis only wan leg oan the troosers
  an' the bastards widnae exchainge it. Said it wis
  somethin' tae dae wi' the nap ae the cloth . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit did yese dae? Amputate?
<2PHIL:>2  Jimmucks hud tae force baith his legs doon the wan
  trooser. Gie'd him a kinda swivellin' mince . . . <1Demon->1
  <1strates>1 . . . that wis the only thing . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Used tae wunner aboot your Jim . . . that's whit it wis?
<2PHIL:>2  He used tae arrive hame fae the jiggin' . . . twinty sailors
  in his wake . ..
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah'd an Uncle Bertie that wis in the Navy.
<2SPANKY:>2  Here we go again. We know, we know . . . yuv told us
  before. He went doon wi' his boat . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Ship! "The Royal Oak". His photy's oan oor mantlepiece.
  He wis only nineteen . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Naebody mentioned yur Uncle Bertie, Heck.
<2HECTOR:>2  He wis ma Mother's only brother.
<2PHIL:>2  We know . . . we know. Yuv goat his medals in the press
  an' aw his claes ur oan the wa'. We know . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  It's his claes that ur in the press an' his medals that ur . ..
  ur . . . <1Goes red.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  . . . in the bunker . . . we know . . . we wurnae implyin'
  nothin'.
<2HECTOR:>2  Jist don't. He wis ma uncle.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aw, fur God's sake . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  An' he died fur his country!
<2PHIL:>2  Okay, Hector . . . okay. Ah wis only kiddin' aboot the
  twinty sallors. Honest . . . honest. <1Pause.>1 It wis forty! <1He>1
  <1and Spanky collapse in paroxysms.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Ya bloody bastarts! Yuv nae regard fur nothin', nae'er
  ye huv . . . Ma uncle wis a volunteer . . . Straight oantae
  battleships fae the Sea Scouts. And he wis wounded
  twice ...
  <1Enter Sadie with trolley.>1
<2SADIE:>2  Teas up.
<2HECTOR:>2  . . . afore he wis kilt!
<2SADIE:>2  Nice wee fairy cakes the day . . . <1Howls of laughter.>1
  Whit's up wi' youse? S'at no' terrible . . . Here, behave
  yursels. Come on . . . teas up. <1Pause.>1 Where's ma wean?
  <1Shoves Phil aside.>1 Luk at them curls. Here, son . . . <1Takes>1
  <1Hector's Hand>1 . . . luk whit yur Mammy's brung ye.
  <1Hands him cream cookie.>1 That's fur bein' a good boy.
  <1Howls of protest.>1 Thur's only the wan! The rest's fur
  the Boardroom. Ah goat Miss McDonald tae pit an extra
  wan oan fur ma baby. D'ye like that, son? <1More protests.>1
  Youse shuttit, youse! That wean needs a wee treat.
  Thur's fairy cakes fur youse . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Gie's a bite, Heck.
<2HECTOR:>2  Gettaff!
<2PHIL:>2  Come on!
<2SADIE :>2  <1Rushing to protect the mite.>1 Lea' ma byootiful wean
  alane, ya perra hooligans. Ye enjoyin' that, flower?
  That's the stuff. Noo, whit wis youse two wantin'?
  Come on . . .tea ur coffee?  -
<2SPANKY:>2  Tea. How come he gets special treatment, Sadie?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, come on. Can me an' Spanky no' huv wan ae them
  cookies?
<2SADIE:>2  Ah telt ye . . . thur fur the Boardroom.
<2PHIL:>2  Gie's wan as yur fairy cakes then . . . <1Bangs it against>1
  <1side of trolley.>1 Fairies been pittin' cement in them? Gie's
  acoffee.
<2SADIE:>2  Please. Where's yur manners? D'yese get away wi' that
  at hame? Yur Mothers'd be ashamed ae yese, so they
  wid ...
  <1Enter Alan>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Jist in time fur the chuckwagon, cowboy. D'ye want tae
  wrap yur chaps roon' wan ae these here wee fairy cakes?
<2ALAN:>2  I think I'll try the tea, please.
<2SADIE:>2  See that? There's a showin' up fur yese. There's whit ye
  cry manners. Here ye are, son. <1Pours tea.>1 Help yursel' tae
  mulk an' sugar . . . that's right. Here, Ah huvnae seen
  you afore. You in beside these boys?
<2ALAN:>2  Just temporarily. I'll be in Mr. Sinclair's department.
<2SADIE:>2  Very nice. <1Pushes trolley close to Alan.>1 Here, try wan ae
  they wee scones an' butter. Thur's a knife next tae yur
  haun . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Haw, Sadie, ye never telt us thur wis butter!
<2SPANKY:>2  That's no' fair!
<2SADIE>2 shuttit,youse!An'yese never pit yur monies in the tin.
Come on.Three ha'pence fur tea...fourpence fur
  coffee. Ah said fourpence . . . Come on.
<2PHIL:>2  <1Holding up sixpence.>1 Ah've only goat a tanner.
<2SADIE>2  That's awright, Ah've goat plenty a coppers. <1Phil hands>1
  <1over money, pinches biscuit.>1 An' when did you start,
  son?
<2ALAN:>2  This morning.
<2SADIE:>2  An' whit dae they cry ye?
<2PHIL:>2  Albert.
<2SPANKY:>2  Agnes.
<2ALAN :>2  Alan.
<2PHIL:>2  Dowdy.
<2SPANKY :>2  Dowdalls.
<2ALAN:>2  Downie.
<2SADlE :>2  Well, son, Ah come roon' every moarnin' an' efternin wi'
  yur tea. Ah'll try an' keep ye somethin' efter dinnertime.
  Whit kinda things dae ye like? A wee Chelsea bun ur
  that? Choclit biscuits? Ah'll see whit Ah can dae. Ah've
  goat some cream cookies this moarnin' but they're fur
  the Directors. Couldnae let ye huv wan ae them. S'mair
  than ma life's worth . . . but Ah'll bring ye somethin'
  later oan.
<2ALAN:>2  Thanks very much.
<2SADIE:>2  Sadie.
<2ALAN:>2  Sadie . . .
          <1Jeers from Phil and Spanky>1
<2SADIE:>2  That boy could learn you savages a thing ur two. You
        stick in, son, you'll go places. <1Takes out book of tickets.>1
  Noo, hus yese aw goat yur tickets fur the Staff Dance
  the night?
<2PHIL:>2  Christ . . . is it the night?
<2SADIE:>2  Wull you stoap yur swerrin', Philip McCann . . . yuv
  goat that young boy aw embarrassed. Aye, it's the night
  an' Ah don't see yur name doon as paid. Stump up.
<2PHIL:>2  Huv a heart, Sadie. Ah gie'd ye ma last tanner. Ah've
  nae malr dough. Ah'll pay ye next week.
<2SADIE :>2  You'll pay me after dinnertime ur yull haun yur ticket
  back. Youse boys get plenty. Ah'll mark ye doon fur this
  efternin.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye still gaun, Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, Ah suppose so.
<2SADIE :>2  You've goat yours, Spanky? Aye . . . Hector? Whit aboot
  you, son? Don't see yur name doon . . . Ye gei'in it a
  miss this year?
<2SPANKY:>2  Course he is. His legs wid never reach the flair. <1Pinches>1
  <1cookies. Gives one to Phil.>1
<2SADIE:>2  Ye no' want a ticket, son?
<2HECTOR:>2  Much ur they again?
<2SADIE:>2  Fifteen shullins single, twinty five double.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah'll take a double.
  <1Spanky and Phil choke on their cookies.>1
<2SADIE:>2  Whit?
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah said, Ah'll take a double.
  <1Moment's stunned silence.>1
<2SADIE:>2  That's whit Ah thought ye said, son. Here ye are. Dae ye
  want tae pay me the noo ur leave it till efter?
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah've goat the money here.
<2SADIE:>2  <1Eyeing notes.>1 Did yur Mammy come up on the Snow-
  ball? Thanks, son . . . twinty seven an' six . . . thirty bob
  . . . an' there's a ten shullin' note. See an' baith ae yese
  huv a lovely time. Whit aboot you, sweetheart?
<2ALAN:>2  Oh . . . I hadn't thought about it.
<2SADIE:>2  Well,ye always know who's goat the tickets. S'at aw yur
  cups? <1To Alan>1 Naw, don't bother tae wash it, darlin'.
  That's fine. Ah'll away then. Them Directors'll be
  greetin' fur thur cream cookies. <1Alan rushes and holds>1
  <1door open.>1 Aw, thanks, son . . . yur a real gentleman.
  Thanks. That's jist your ticket money tae get, Phil
  McCann. Right? See yese later . . . toodleoo.
  <1Exits.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Aw, Heck, ye didnae need tae go that faur. Ah know we
  wur gei'in ye the needle an' that but ye didnae need tae
  go an' throw twinty five bob away jist tae get yur ain
  back. We never sald yur Uncle Bertie wis . . .like that.
  Disnae run in faimilies anyhow . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  No' like lunacy.
<2PHIL:>2  Whit?
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Dunting Hector.>1 He says he knows that. Watch it!
<2HECTOR:>2  Youse started it.
<2SPANKY:>2  Who're ye gaun wi' anyhow? Anybody we know?
<2PHIL:>2  C'mon, don't be shy , Heck. . . Is it hur fae the Post Desk
  wi' the face like a walnut?
<2SPANKY:>2  C'mon, tell us. . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, who's Miss X?
<2HECTOR:>2  Mind yur ain business.
<2PHIL:>2  Well, if it isnae Miss MacDonald. . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Wi' the big cookies. . .
<2PHIL:>2  An' it isnae Walnut Face. . . disnae leave much tae choose fae,
  dis it? Ah think it's a kid-on. . . whit d'you say, Spanks?
  The big $(K.O.)$ ?
<2SPANKY:>2  Tell us Hector. . . please. <1Gets down on his knees>1 Please. . .
  <1Grabs HECTOR'S coat tails>1 . . .wur beggin' ye. <1He is joined>1
  <1by Phil>1
<2PHIL:>2  Pit us ootae wur misery.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ach, stoap actin' the goat, wull yese? If yese must know. . .
<2SPANKY and PHIL:>2  <1Together>1 Yes? Yes?
<2HECTOR:>2  It's . . .
<2SPANKY and PHIL:>2    <1Together>1 Yes??
<2HECTOR:>2    <1Blurts out>1 It's Lucille Bentley.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit?????
<2PHIL:>2  Who?????
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah don't believe . . . Lucille? Lucille Bentley???
<2PHIL:>2  Lucille wid never consider gaun tae the Staffie wi' you,
  Hector. Yur haverin'!
<2SPANKY:>2  Lucille an' . . .? Never!
<2PHIL:>2  By God, you're a dark horse. Pheeeewwwwww. How
  long hus this been gaun on? Ah never thought she
  noticed you wur alive, Heck. God, yuv fairly risen in ma
  estimation. Lucille?
<2SPANKY:>2  She's some looker . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Huv ye seen hur, Alfie? She's every Slab Boy's dream . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  An' she werrs these . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aye . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  When did ye ask hur, Heck?
<2HECTOR:>2  Well, er . . . Ah . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Where did ye get the patter, kiddo?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, all of a sudden?
<2PHIL:>2  An' she says, Aye . . . jist like that?
<2HECTOR:>2  Well, Ah huvnae actually . . . er . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  God . . . oor Hector an' Lucille . . . Pheeww . . .
  27
<2PHIL:>2  Who'd've guessed? Hector?
<2HECTOR:>2  God, Ah'm burstin'!
  <1Exits hurriedly>1
<2PHIL:>2  Whit d'ye make a that, Spanks? Wisnae hauf hidin' his
  light, eh?
<2SPANKY:>2  Couldn've been aw he wis hidin'.
  <1We see Lucille approaching.>1
<2LUCILLE:>2  <1Sings>1 "Once I had a secret love . . . That lived within the
heart of me . . . . "
<2LUCILLE:>2  <1Throwing door open>1 Whit wan ae youse clatty gannets
  hus been in at Miss Walkinshaw's lunchpail? Hur sardine
  an' chutney sangwiches ur covered wi' palnt an' hur
  oarange's went missin'. Yese ur a bunch a greedy swines,
  so yese are. Ye know she's goat a caliper. S'thur any them
  dishrags aboot? Not the rancid ones. <1To Alan>1 Hi . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Lookin' forward tae the Dance, Lucille?
<2LUCILLE:>2  <1Holds hand out to Phil.>1 Dishrag . . .
<2PHIL:>2  <1Taking rag from top pocket.>1 Voila . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ugh . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Yuv jist missed him. Lover Boy.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Eh?
<2SPANKY:>2  The economy-size Casanova. He jist went oot.
<2PHIL:>2  Wee guy. Aboot this height. Must've wrigglet atween yur
  legs.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah widnae mind . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit yese talkin' aboot, youse?
<2PHIL:>2  Hector.
<2LUCILLE:>2  So?
<2SPANKY:>2  So . . . yuv jist missed him. Jist lettin' ye know.
<2LUClLLE>2:  Aye, thanks  S'at supposed tae be significant ur am Ah
  jist bein' thick?
<2PHIL:>2  Thought ye might've wanted tae brush up yur foxtrot . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Yur fandangle . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Yur cha-cha-cha . . . cha-cha-cha!
<2LUCILLE:>2  <1To Alan.>1 Can you translate aw that?
<2ALAN:>2  I think they're meaning about you and Hector going to
  the Staff Dance.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit?? Me an' who?
<2ALAN:>2  Hector.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Hector? Gaun tae the whit? Who's been gein' yese
  that guff? Whit wid Ah be daein' gaun tae the . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ye mean he husnae . . .?
<2SPANKY:>2  The little . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  It's the Staff Dance no' the Teddy Bears' Picnic!
  Somebody actually sald Ah wis gaun wi' . . .?
<2SPANKY:>2  Hector. Aye, somebody actually sald.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit a bloody insult! Ah've seen better hingin' fae a
  Christmas tree! Hector?? Don't make us laugh. <1To Alan.>1
  Mind 'an circumnavigate the sketching department.
  <1Exits.>1
<2PHIL:>2  A right perra chookies we looked!
<2SPANKY:>2  Wait till Ah get a haud ae that wee . . .
<2PHIL:>2  He's for it!
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah'll strangle him!
  <1Enter Hector.>1
  Aw, here it comes. Prince Charming.
<2PHIL:>2  You shall go the the Ball, Lucille.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit wis aw that moothwash aboot you askin' hur tae
  the Staffie, ya little toley!?
<2PHIL:>2  Ye hud me an' him believin' ye, ya . . . She's jist been
  in here.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ye never gave us a chance tae explain . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit's tae explain? Ye led us tae believe that you an'
  hur wur gonnae cut a rug the night . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Trip the light fantastic . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah only meant Ah wis gonnae ask hur . . .
<2PHIL:>2  He wis gonnae ask hur . . .
<2ALAN:>2  That's what I thought he meant . . . That he was going
  to ask her.
<2SPANKY:>2  Who cares whit you thought, sonny boy. You jist staun
  there an' model that blazer!
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah didnae actually say Ah hud asked hur . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ye certainly gave me an' Spanky the impression that ye hud.
<2SPANKY:>2  An' that she wis champin' at the bit tae go.
<2PHIL:>2  She never even knew which wan ae us wis Hector.
<2HECTOR:>2  That disnae say much fur youse either.
<2SPANKY:>2  It struck a wrang chord wi' me at the time. That a doll
  like Lucille wid partner you tae the Dance. Ah mean tae
  say . . . Look at ye.
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit's wrang wi' me?
<2PHIL:>2  Everythin's wrang wi' ye. Look at the state ae the claes
  fur a start.
<2HECTOR:>2  S'nothin' up wi' ma claes.
<2SPANKY:>2  "S'nothin' up wi' ma claes" . . . ye must be jokin'. Ah've
  seen mair up tae date claes oan a garden gnome.
  Yur a mess,  Heck.
<2PHIL:>2  Ye never stood a chance a gettin' Lucille tae the Staffie.
<2SPANKY:>2  Them duds ae yours is twinty years behind the times,
  Hector. Miss Walkinshaw jist might've went fur ye but
  Lucille? Furget it! Dames like hur only goes fur a guy
  wi' bags a style. Style, that's whit coonts.
<2ALAN:>2  I can't really agree with that.
  <1Phil and Spanky look at each other then>1
  <1into cupboards etc.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  You throwin' yur voice, Phil?
<2ALAN:>2  It was me. I sald, I don't go along with your theory . . .
  about style . . . or whatever you call it.
<2PHIL:>2  Seems tae be comin' fae the ceilin . . .
<2ALAN:>2  Don't let them bully you. Your clothes are perfectly
  all  right.
<2PHIL:>2  Ah've fun where the voice is comin' fae, Spanky.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aw . . . Creepybreeks here. An' whit dae you know
  aboot claes, eh? You're as bad as him. Look at the
  troosers . . . an' that blazer! An' take a gander at the
  fit wear . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Godalmighty! Whit's that oan yur feet, kid?
<2ALAN:>2  Brogues. What's wrong with brogues?
<2PHIL:>2  Ye don't really want us tae tell ye, dae ye?
<2ALAN:>2  Go ahead.
<2PHIL:>2  Well . . . thur fulla holes fur a start.
<2SPANKY:>2  An' they look stupit.
<2ALAN:>2  What do you mean, stupid? They're better than those
  efforts you're wearing.
<2SPANKY:>2  D'ye hear that, Phil? <1Puts foot up on slab.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Good Christ, man . . . that wis the very boot that
  conquered Everest!
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Examining sole.>1 Thought the sole wis werrin' a bit
  thin.
<2PHIL:>2  The All-British Bubble Boot . . . endorsed by Dermot
  Walsh . . . hus tae be wan ae the maist stylish items a
  manly footgear oan the market an' you're comparin'
  them tae a stupit luckin' perra brogues?
<2SPANKY:>2  You an' Heck ur jist the same. A perra tubes.
<2PHIL:>2  Take it fae us, you guys. Youse'll never get a lumber . . .
  <1(Puts foot up on slab)>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Without this gadgy number . . .
<2PHIL:>2  "The finest little boot in all the "land. Whit is it?
  <1Together Sing.>1 "The finest little boot in all the land . . .
  darrraaaaaaa. "
  <1Enter tack Hogg>1
<2JACK:>2  Alan . . . And would you pair keep down the racket?
  Miss Walkinshaw's migraine <1(Takes hold of each foot and>1
  <1removes them from slab)>1 . . . okay? You coming?
  <1He and Alan Exit>1
  <1Phil and Spanky rush to sink and run their>1
  <1feet under taps.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Did ye really mean that? Aboot style . . . claes an' aw
  that stuff? Kiddin' aside . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Course we meant it. Yull never get naewhere, wi' the
  stronger sex if yur no' up tae the mark . . . fashion
  wise. Ah mean, whit dame's gonnae take a guy
  seriously wi' a heid like that, Heck?
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah cannae help the way ma herr grows.
<2SPANKY:>2  But that's where yur wrang, kid. <1Takes out enormous>1
  <1shears.>1 Mr. McCann. <1Hands over shears.>1 An' don't
  worry aboot yur claes. Wull organise somethin' wi'
  them . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Naw, Ah don't really think . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye want tae go tae the Staffie wi' Lucille?
<2HECTOR:>2  Aye, but . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Then lea' it tae Mr McCann an' masel'. His Auntie Fay
  wis a tailoress . . . in the Doll's Hospital. . . Ye want
  tae take wur client doon the lavvies, Phil . . . an' get
  the claes aff him . . . ?
<2PHIL:>2  Will do. This way, Heck. <1Throws Hector over shoulder.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Heh, wait a minit . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Spare yur thanks, Hecky. Wur only too pleased tae
  oblige.  Right, Phil?
<2HECTOR:>2  But . . . but . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Miss Bentley, Hector.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah know but . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Opening door.>1 The lavvies.
<2PHIL:>2  <1As they exit.>1 Lucille'll be a walkover when we're done
  wi' ye, Heck. <1Screams and Protests from Hector.>1
  <1Exeunt.>1
  <1Jack and Alan come along corridor.>1
<2JACK:>2  Are you at all familiar with clockwork locos, Alan?
<2ALAN:>2  Oh, they're terribly old hat now, aren't they?
  My Dad's managed to get a hold of two twelve
  volt transformers . . . through "Exchange and
  Mart". I'm helping him draw up the plans for a
  whole new set-up just now.
<2JACK:>2  D'you have much trouble with fuses?
<2ALAN:>2  Quite a bit . . .
  <1They enter slab room.>1
<2JACK:>2  All on your ownio? We couldn't find Bobby
  Sinclair so I thought Alan could come and do
  a spotin the Slab . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  The flair's jist been mopped.
<2JACK>2  If I see Bobby I'll tell him where you are, Alan. Right?
  <1Exits>1
<2ALAN:>2  <1Awkwardly.>1 Are you at all conversant with lay-outs. . .
  er . . . George? We've got an eight by ten . . . all
  electric . . . in the garden shed. I made some farm
  animals last night . . . out of papier mache. They look
  awfully well beside the new Pullmans. Scale, that's the
  secret . . . getting the proper scale. I once made a signal
  box out of some egg cartons . . . I was only about twelve
  at the time. My Dad said it looked like the Kelvin Hall
  compared to the . . . er . . . the . . . er . . . can I give you
  a hand with anything?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, gie's that rag up. Ah think Ah'll strain some gum.
  An' you can sit awer there ootae the road.
<2ALAN:>2  Where've the others got to? S'not lunchtime yet . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw . . . too early. Phil took Hector doon the bog . . .
  tae get the claes aff him.
<2ALAN:>2  Oh
<2SPANKY:>2  Thur comin' up fur alterations . . . bitta stylin'.
  Sadie's goat a Singer in the Ladies' . . .
<2ALAN:>2  You convinced him then?
<2SPANKY:>2  Didnae take much convincin'. The boy knows we widnae
  kid him oan aboot somethin' like that. She goes fur a
  guy fur a guy wi' a bitta style, dis oor Lucille . . .
  <1Enter Curry.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Where's McKenzie?
<2SPANKY:>2  Oh . . . er . . . Phil hud another attack an' Hector hud
  tae go wi' him.
<2CURRY:>2  An attack of what, for God's sake? Not the loose stools
  again?
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw . . . the diarreaoh, Mr Curtains. Hector gie'd him a
  coalie doon the sterrs.
<2CURRY:>2  My Godalmighty . . . If I'd had you lot in the army . . .
  Oh, and what are you doing in the Slab, young fellow?
  Thought you'd been seconded to Bobby Sinclair?
<2ALAN:>2  I'm afraid Jack and I couldn't find him, Mr Curry.
  He wasn't in his office.
<2CURRY:>2  S'truth . . . it gets more like the Marie Celeste every day,
  this place.
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Giving phony guffaw.>1 Haw, very good, Mr C . . .
<2CURRY:>2  You're not too big for a clip round the ear Farrell so
  just watch it. Well now, Alan, since your're here we better
  find you something to do. That buggar Sinclair could
  be away all day. Right, Farrell, a large sheet of paper, if
  you please.
  <1Spanky hands over tatty piece of paper.>1 Is this what you
  call a large sheet?
<2SPANKY:>2  S'aw wuv goat.
<2CURRY:>2  Alan, nip down to the wee Design Room and ask
  Mr Barton for a large sheet of paper. On you go . . .
  look sharp. Straight down the stair, first on the left.
  <1Exit Alan.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Have you any tracing paper in here?
<2SPANKY:>2  Tracin' paper?
<2CURRY:>2  Tracing paper.
<2SPANKY:>2  Fur tracin'?
<2CURRY:>2  Justso.
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw.
<2CURRY:>2  What happened to that roll Mr Barton left?
<2SPANKY:>2  Thur's nae trace ae it.
<2CURRY:>2  <1Clenched teeth.>1 Steady, Curry. <1Pause.>1 What's keeping
  that lad? Honest to God, you'd think he was out in the
  Bush without a compass . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, very . . . <1Coughs.>1
<2CURRY:>2  How's that gum coming along, Farrell? I take it that is
  gum you're making?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, thur wis an awfy lottae straw in that last lotta
    crystals so Ah thought Ah'd . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Probably camel chips. Gum arabic, you know. We used to
  burn a lot of camel chips under our billies out East . . .
  handy stuff, camel chips . . . Yeeeesssss . . . used to give
  off a terrific heat . . . gave the cocoa a peculiar flavour,
  that was the only thing. Aaahhh . . . many's the night we
  spent huddled round the old camp fire after a hard day's
  trek across the dunes . . . the dromedary dung crackling
  cheerily away . . . sending a fountain of bright sparks
  winging into the velvet sky. It gets a mite chilly in the
  desert  of an evening, you know . . . oh yes . . . some of
  the lads would hunker down over the campfire, hitch up
  their shorts, and take their ukeleles out . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
<2CURRY:>2  . . . we'd have a sing-song. <1Sings.>1 "We'll meet again, don't
  know where . . . don't know when . . . "Did I ever tell you
  about the time Vera Lynn caught up with us? Tommy
  Christou's Rialto Kinema . . . Alexandria, 1944 . . .
  There we were . . . fifteen hundred Highland Fusiliers
  sitting in the dark and waving our Pashas . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
<2CURRY:>2  "Well done, Vera. We'll give them what for!" Lovely
  girl she was. She wore the kilt that day . . . <1Sings>1 "but I
  know we'll meet again some sunny . . . "
  <1Enter Alan.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Here we are, Mr Curry.
<2CURRY:>2  Ah . . . there you are, laddie. Farrell there thought you's
  absconded, Didn't you, Farrell?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah thought ye'd went hame.
<2CURRY:>2  Right, lad . . . set it down there. that's right . . . just there.
  Now, I'm going to run over a few pointers with you. You'd
  be wise to pay particuIar attention. You, too, Farrell . . .
  you might learn something.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah'm tryin' tae make up some gum, Mr Cumming . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Leave the gum for the time being and gather round.
  You're never too old to learn. Come on . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Yuv showed us aw this afore.
<2CURRY:>2  You're never too long in the tooth to learn how to
  execute a farrell, Floral. I'll show you again, won't I?
  It may stand you in good stead. Now, charcoal . . .?
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
<2CURRY:>2  Charcoal.
<2SPANKY:>2  How can Ah get charcoal when ma hauns ar aw gum?
<2CURRY:>2  Just tell me where it is and I'll get it myself.
<2SPANKY:>2  We huvnae goat any.
<2CURRY:>2  Give me strength. Alan, go out and ask Mr Robertson for
  some willow charcoal, there's a good chap. Oh, and a
  chamois. Hurry up.
<2ALAN:>2  Which one is Mr Robertson?
<2CURRY:>2  Third desk from the window. Nylon overall, briar pipe.
<2SPANKY:>2  S'at no' Miss Walkinshaw? Sorry, she's goat a moustache,
  husn't she?
<2CURRY:>2  Just you get on with making that gum for the moment,
  Farrell. Off you go, Alan.
<2ALAN:>2  Sorry, Mr Curry . . . I've forgotten what to ask for . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Willow charcoal and a chamois.
  <1Exit Alan>1
  <1Pause>1
<2CURRY:>2  Er . . . Farrell . . . What's this business about McCann's
  mother? Do you know anything about it? Miss Walkinshaw
  has a brother-in-law . . . sbop manager in some housing
  scheme and he was telling her about some carry-on last
  night . . . seemingly McCann's mother was involved in some
  way. Darkwood Crescent they stay, don't they?
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw . . . er . . . think thuv moved fae there noo. They
  live in Foxbar s'faur as Ah know. Couldnae've been Phil's
  Maw that broke the windaes. Must've been some other
  loonie.
<2CURRY:>2  Hmm . . . thankyou, Farrell.
  <1Enter Alan>1
<2ALAN:>2  <1Holding up small stick of charcoal.>1 Here you are, Mr Curry-
<2CURRY:>2  Is that all he had?
<2ALAN:>2  No. He was going to give me the whole box but when I
  told him who it was for he just gave me this. Oh, and a
  chamois.
  <1Holds up tattered shred.>1
<2CURRY:>2  <1Taking it.>1 I find it difficult to picture this ever making
  its way surefootedly up the treacherous slopes of the
  Matterhorn. Still, I suppose it'll have to do. Now . . .
  <1Prepares to draw.>1
  <1Door opens Lucille looks in.>1
<2LUClLLE:>2  Telephone, Mr Curry.
<2CURRY:>2  Bugger! Alright, Lucille. Don't go away, laddie . . . I'll
  be right back.
  <1Exits>1
  <1Alan gets up and strolls round.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Heh . . . heh . . .where d'ye think you're gaun? Mr Curdles
  told ye tae stay there. Down, boy.
<2ALAN:>2  I was stretching my legs. I'm not wandering off anywhere.
<2SPANKY:>2  See that ye don't ur Ah'll get the blame. Ah get the bloody
  blame fur everythin' roon here.
<2ALAN:>2  Just having a look around, that's all. <1Discovers Phil's Port->1
  <1folio. Opens it up and starts going through drawings.>1 Hey,
  are these yours?
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh? Naw, must be Phil's. Heh, pit them back. If he catches
  ye gaun through his stuff he'll brek yur jaw. Better shut
  that folder.
<2ALAN:>2  Some of these are very good. Quite accomplished.
<2SPANKY:>2  Oh . . ."quite accomplished" . . . ur they? An' whit dae you
  know aboot it?
  Not much but anyone can see they're good. <1Holding up>1
  <1drawing.>1 That's Whatdyoucallim, isn't it?
<2SPANKY:>2  Elvis . . . ? Aye . . .
  <1Enter Curry.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Just been having a word with your Dad on the phone, Alan.
  I didn't twig that Bob Downie was your father till I spoke
  to him just now. Chief Designer at Templar's, eh? He's come
  up in the world since he left here . . . Hullo, what's this?
  Some of your artwork, laddie? Let's have a butchers . . .
  Mmmm, Dad been giving you a few lessons, then?
<2ALAN:>2  Oh, they're not mine, Mr Curry . . . I was just having . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, thur no' his.
<2CURRY:>2  Who belongs to them, then?They aren't yours, Farrell,
  that's for sure. You've got trouble trying to draw water
  from that tap over there. And they can't be Hector's . . .
  I've seen his floral sketches . . . Too bold for him . . .
<2ALAN:>2  I believe they're . . .
<2CURRY:>2  And you're not going to tell me they're McCann's . . .
  What's this? <1Peers at drawing.>1 That's the Art School
  stamp, isn't it? "Glasgow School of Art, First Year Entrance
  Examination. March, 1957" . . . What?
<2SPANKY:>2  Bugger.
<2CURRY:>2  Whose are these? Come on.
<2SPANKY:>2  How should Ah know?
<2CURRY:>2  <1Turning over folio.>1 "P.J. McCann, 19 Darkwood Crescent,
  Furguslie Park . . ." Good God, so that's what the loafer's
  been up to? A flyman, eh? Getting the old escape kit
  ready, is that it? Well, we'll see about that. Farrell . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit?
<2CURRY:>2  Away doon tae the ablutions and fetch that crony of yours
  up here. Tell him I want a word with him.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah'll need tae wash ma hauns furst.
CURRY'  Well, get a move on, laddie. He's surely vacated himself
  of all waste products by this time. . . they've been gone
  for the last half hour. Tell McCann to drag his miserable
  carcase up those flaming stairs. You and McKenzie can
  take an arm and a leg each if he can't manage.
<2SPANKY:>2  An' jist lea' the rest ae his boady doon there?
<2CURRY:>2  Get the hands washed! Bloody corner boy. Now, Alan,
  where were we? Pass me that charcoal. Right . . . now,
  I'm going to rough in a few roses here. I daresay your
  Dad's covered some of this ground with you. Still, no
  harm in seeing it again, eh? I showed Bob Downie a few
  things while he was with us. Spect he told you, eh? Now,
  what's the first . . . Farrell, will you hurry up. You'd think
  you were having a damned bath the time you're taking.
  Gee yourself up a bit. Right, Alan . . . what's the first
  thing we do when we're starting a charcoal sketch?
<2SPANKY:>2  Get a bit of charcoal.
<2CURRY:>2  That's right, get the old wrist moving. Make sure it's
  good and supple before making your mark. Got it? Put
  those two fingers just there and you'll see what I mean.
  Feel?
<2ALAN:>2  Oh, yes . . .
  <1Enter Phil carrying bundle of clothes which>1
  <1he throws quickly behind door.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Sorry . . . am Ah interruptin' somehin'? Ah'll come back
  later . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Ah, here you are at last, McCann. This is a pleasure. Sure
  you can spare the time? Bowels back to normal?
<2PHIL:>2  Eh? Aw ... aye . ..
<2CURRY:>2  Nice of you to look in. Perhaps you can enlighten us a
  little, eh? <1Indicates folio.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Heh whit ye dae'in wi' they drawin's? That's private!
<2CURRY:>2  There's nothing private in here, laddie. What's this all
  about? Glasgow School of Art Entrance Exam . . . Well?
<2PHIL:>2  Yuv nae right . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Ah, not so, lad, not so. By the terms of your indentures . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ma whit?
<2CURRY:>2  Your indentures. That's what you signed when you
  started here . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ah never signed nothin'. An' even if Ah hud that disnae
  gie ye the right tae go through ma stuff. That portfolio's
  mines. Ah collected it this mornin' . . .
<2CURRY:>2  So that's why you were more than an hour late, eh? That
  diarreaoh business was just a red herring . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Wisnae me that told ye aboot the diarreaoh. Wis him.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ya bastard!
<2CURRY:>2  But you went along with it . . .oh, yes, you certainly
  went along with it, McCann. Thought you had me
  fooled, eh? Oh no, I smelt a rat right away. So, you were
  up collecting that lot, were you? Now, don't think for a
  moment that I'm accusing you of being in the least
  underhand, laddie, but don't you think it might have
  been wise to seek permission before embarking on . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ye must be jokin' . . . Whose bloody permission dae Ah
  need? Yours?
<2CURRY:>2  Or Mr Barton's.
<2PHIL:>2  Ach, away tae . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Watch it, laddie. Remember who you're speaking to. Any
  more of that and its your bloody . . .
  <1Enter Jack.>1
<2JACK:>2  Scuse me interrupting. You're wanted in Mr Barton's
  office, Mr Curry.
<2CURRY:>2  What?
<2JACK:>2  Right away
<2CURRY:>2  Right . . . Right.
  <1Exits>1
<2PHIL:>2  The little . . . Did ye hear it??? His permission??? His
  bloody . . . Christ!! Did ye hear him, Spanky?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye didnae need tae shop us like that, did ye?
<2PHIL:>2  Whit?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah wis only tryin' tae stoap ye gettin' intae trouble.
  Some thanks Ah goat.
<2PHIL:>2  Whit ye talkin' aboot?
<2SPANKY:>2  The bloody dia-bloody-reoh, that's whit. "It wis him" . . .
  Thanks a bloody lot!
<2PHIL:>2  Ach, that isnae important. Did ye hear whitthe little
  keech wis tryin' tae say aboot me gaun tae the Art School?
  Whit a bloody nerve.
<2JACK:>2  Oh, is that what all the noise was about?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, Curry wis tryin' tae make oot Ah wis bein' devious
  'cos Ah wanted oot a here.
<2SPANKY:>2  Well, Ah never knew nothin' aboot it either.
<2PHIL:>2  So? Ah don't huv tae tell you everythin', dae Ah?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye telt us aboot yur Maw.
<2PHIL:>2  That wis different an' you know it.
<2JACK:>2  It's a pretty tough entrance exam, you know. I've tried
  it. They don't let too many . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Who asked you? Whit dae you know?
<2JACK:>2  I'm only saying you have to be good to get a place . . .
<2ALAN:>2  That's right. My Father says . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Who cares whit your faither says. He'll huv as much idea
  as Pansy Plook there.
<2JACK:>2  Hey, wait a minute . . .
<2ALAN:>2  My Father's got a Fine Arts degree from Edinburgh.
<2PHIL:>2  Aw . . . swank wur gettin' noo . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  The boy wis only sayin' . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ah knew you'd turn oan us, ya whore. Ah bet ye it wis
  you that showed Hitler ma folio.
<2SPANKY:>2  It wis nut!
<2ALAN:>2  It was me, if you must know, and I didn't do it deliberat-
  ely.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah warned him tae lea' it alane. Didn't Ah?
<2JACK>2 I don't see what all the fuss is about, anyway. Time
enough when the results come out. I've got a friend who
sat the exam and she won't hear till next month. You
get a letter through the post.
<2PHIL>2 Bully fur hur! Well Ah'll be hearin' sooner than that. In
fact, Ah'll know by this efternin, so there.
<2SPANKY>2 How come? If Jack's china disnae get word tull...
<2PHIL>2 Lassie in the Art School said she'd gie us a ring. Gave
hur the number. Yased a bit the auld charm.
<2SPANKY>2 This number?
<2PHIL>2 Aye.
<2SPANKY>2 Ah don't see Wullie passin' it oan.
He disnae let anybody get personal calls unless
it's urgent... matter a life an' death mair ur less.
<2PHIL>2 Telt hur tae say it wis the hoaspital.
<2JACK>2 They're not supposed to do that. It seems a bit unfair.
Other people have to wait on their letters.
<2PHIL>2 Ah'm no' other people, Jack.
<2JACK>2 I still think it's unfair. Don't you Alan?
<2PHIL>2 You say anythin' an' Ah'll pit you face in!
<2JACK>2 Here, stop threatening the chap, you. He's only just
started.
<2PHIL>2 Ach, piss off, Pimples. Away back tae your desk an' fester.
<2ALAN>2 It's alright, Alan... I have to go in any case... thanks
just the same. <1to PHIL.>1 Sticks and stones may break my
bones but names... <1PHIL makes a lunge at him>1... aaargh!
  <1Exits>1
<2PHIL:>2  Good! <1To Alan.>1 An' Ah'll speak tae anybody how Ah like,
  buggerlugs. Wan mair word fae you an' Ah'll . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Holding him back.>1 Ach, lea' him alane, Phil. He's only
  a creepy shitebag. Thur's nae herm in him.
<2ALAN:>2  I think I'll get a breath of air . . .
  <1Exits>1
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, ye better . . . God . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  It'll blow over, Phil, don't worry. Ye know whit Wullie's
  like . . .
  <1Door opens. Curry appears.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Did McKenzie come up with you, McCann?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw. Ah thought he wis up here arready.
<2CURRY:>2  Well, tell him to come to my office the moment he
  appears.
  <1Exits>1
<2SPANKY:>2  See whit Ah mean? It's Hector he's goat it in fur, no' you,
  Phil. Aw the time wuv been here he's always picked oan
  wee Heck. Dae this, dae that . . . go fur this, go fur that.
  S'a bloody shame. You an' me get aff light compared
  wi' Heck.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, Ah noticed! <1Pause.>1 D'ye think it is his cards?
<2SPANKY:>2  That's the second time he's asked fur Hector tae go tae
  his oaffice. Whit d'you think?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye. <1Pause.>1 Where is he anyhow?
<2SPANKY:>2  Who?
<2PHIL:>2  Hector.
<2SPANKY:>2  Thought he wis doon the bog alang wi' you?
<2PHIL:>2  So he wis . . . but he managed tae brek free.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit?
<2PHIL:>2  Ah hud him tied tae a radiator but he managed tae chow
  through the ropes while Ah wis . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye mean he's wanderin' aboot wi'oot a stitch?
<2PHIL:>2  He's goat his simmit oan. That didnae need restylin'.
<2SPANKY:>2  He'll get bloody frostbite, ya swine! How could ye dae
  that tae him?
<2PHIL:>2  It wis your idea an' aw, don't furget.
<2SPANKY:>2  How we gonnae find him?
<2PHIL:>2  Easy. Follow the trail a blood.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit? Ye didnae beat him up as well?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw. Jist gie'd his ear a nick wi' the shears.
<2SPANKY:>2  Yur a bloody sadist, Phil.
<2PHIL:>2  Ah wis tryin' tae get the boy a date wi' Lucille . . . That's
  the thanks Ah get?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, he's goat some chance ae that noo. Who'd want tae
  go tae the Staffie wi' a wan eared, badly heidit midget in
  a blood-stained simmit?????? <1They laugh.>1 Naw,
  come on, Phil . . . it's no' ferr. Wull huv tae dae somethin'.
<2PHIL:>2  Wull dae whit we wur gonnae dae in the furst place. Wull
  get his claes restyled.
<2SPANKY:>2  It'll never work.
<2PHIL:>2  Course it'll work. Sadie knows whit tae dae. Right? Ye
  know how much this means tae Heck . . . gettin' aff wi'
  Lucille. Ah mean tae you an' me she's jist a bitta stuff . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Some bitta stuff . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, but tae Hector she is It. The Real Thing. . . . the
  Empire State . . . the thrupenny in the dumplin' . . .
  Whit ye laughin' at, ya dog? Ye don't reckon Hector's
  sophisticated enough tae get his loins in a fankle over a
  dame? <1Throws togs at Spanky.>1
  <1Lunchtime hooter goes.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Recovering.>1 Heh . . . better get these doon tae Sadie.
  She's goat a big joab oan hur hauns. <1Hods up togs.>1 Luk
  at the state ae them . . .
  <1Enter Alan.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Yoohoo . . . s'that lunchtime?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw, it's dinnertime, creep, An' don't think yur sittin'
  aside us. The grub's enough tae pit ye aff yur dinner. Ye
  right.  Spanks?
<2SPANKY:>2  Last wan doon tae the canteen's a Designer!
  <1They charge out leaving Alan in their wake.>1
  <1End of Act One.>1
  ACT TWO
The Afternoon
<1The Afternoon  Enter Phil. Lights up and lies down on counter.>1
  <1Blows smokerings. Enter Spanky holding stomach>1
  <1and making rueful face.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  God, that dinner wis revoltin' . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ah told ye no' tae huv the Salmonella oan Toast. S'oota
  tin.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah think Ah'm gonnae be sick.
<2PHIL:>2  Well, don't hing awer the shades . . . thur's gum in them
  arready.
  <1Enter Alan with Banana.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Quite a nice lunch they do.
  <1Silence.>1
  Bobby Sinclair's tied up with some problem hanks at the
  moment so I thought I might do some grinding, <1They>1
  <1look at him scornfully.>1 What's wrong with that? <1Silent>1
  <1Stares.>1 Mr Curry certainly thought I could do a bit.
  <1Silence.>1 I don't mind. I'll just go and let Mr Curry know
  I'm not needed . . .  <1Heads for door.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Wait a minute, Alec. Here . . . <1Indicates slab.>1
<2ALAN:>2  <1Moves to slab. Puts down Banana. Takes up palette knife.>1
  I want to learn as much as possible while I'm here.
<2PHIL:>2  You huvnae been drinkin', huv ye?
<2SPANKY:>2  . . . an' pit the other haun . . . That's gadgy. Yur a natural,
  kid. Me an' Phil'll lie awer here an' watch ye furra bit.
  Okay?
<2PHIL:>2  An' when yuv goat that dished thur's some green there . . .
<2ALAN:>2  Thanks.
<2PHIL:>2  Don't mention it. Here . . . ye wantin' a drag?
<2ALAN:>2  I don't smoke.
<2PHIL and SPANKY:>2  Surprise, surprise.
  <1Enter Curry.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Surprise, surprise . . . Young Downie working away and
  you two Teddy Boys lounging back having a puff. On
  your pins! Douse the smokes and lets be having you!
  Come on, jump to it! Finding it difficult to get up, McCann?
  What do you do . . . spray those trousers on? Eh? How the
  hell do you get into those? Or don't you take them off?
  Is that the secret, eh? Give him a hand, Farrell, for God's
  sake, or we'll be here all day. If I'd had the pair of you in
  the jungles out East . . . There were men dropping like
  flies . . . beri beri cholera, you name it . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Windypops?
<2CURRY:>2  Not a peep out of them. Young chaps, age of yourselves.
  Through foul smelling swamps, snake infested under-
  growth . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Aw, Millport,
<2CURRY:>2  Get those palette knives in your mitts quick as you like,
  Farrell. You, too, McCann, At the double! Alan . . .
  drag yourself away for a mo. Right, the two of you, see
  if you can't do half as well as this young fellow, Come on,
  Farrell, don't stand there like G.I. Joe, get on with it.
  This way, Alan . . .
  <1Exeunt>1
<2PHIL:>2  "My Forty Years Giving the Japs Merry Gyp" . . . the
  memoirs of Jungle Jim,
<2SPANKY:>2  Japs, ma arse! Jimmy Roabertson told me Wullie wis a
  typist in the Pay Corps. Nearest he goat tae Burma wis
  "The Bamboo Tea Lounge" in Incle Street.
<2PHIL:>2  He's a wee blowhard. He disnae scare me.
<2SPANKY:>2  Look oot! <1Phil gets fight. Spanky laughs. Do or opens,>1
  <1enter tack. Spanky gets fright.>1
<2JACK:>2  Is Alan around?
<2PHIL:>2  Tall fat guy wi' Scarlet fever an' his nose in a sling?
<2JACK:>2  Would you tell him I've got those carpet mags he asked about.
<2SPANKY:>2  How come me an' Phil never gets tae see these mags?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, how come?
<2JACK:>2  They're about "Design". I shouldn't think you'd be remotely
  interested.
<2PHIL:>2  Aw . . . s'at right? Tell him, Spanks . . . ur we interested?
<2SPANKY:>2  No' really.
<2PHIL:>2  Exactly. So you think twice afore lurchin' in here an'
  accusin' Mr Farrell an' masel' a no' gei'in a monkey's. The
  designin' a carpets fur the hoi poloi may mean nothin' tae
  you, Hogg, but it means a damn sight less tae us. Right, Mr F?
<2SPANKY:>2  Roger.
<2PHIL:>2  Sorry . . . right. Roger?
<2JACK:>2  You're so smart, aren't you? The two of you . . . so smart.
  You're jealous of anybody that takes an interest in things
  . . . You nobbled Hector when he first started. He used to
  come out to my desk and we'd go through some mags
  together. But you put a stop to that, didn't you? Said he
  was a "sook". Called him for everything. A pair of bully-
  boys, that's what you are! Hector could've made a pretty
  good designer if it weren't for you. Yes, he could. Better
  than either of you, anyway. When was the last time you
  were down the Showroom? Eh? Neither of you take the
  least notice of any trials that come up. I bet you don't even
  even know what any of them are working on out there . . .
<2PHIL:>2  <1Taking tatty scrap of carpet from under slab.>1 Fourteen an'
  eleven the square furlong.
<2JACK:>2  That's right, make a fool of things, go on. Some of us take
  a pride in what we do.
<2PHIL:>2  Och, pish, Jack! "Some of us take a pride in what we do."
  Yur the furst wan oot the door an' the leg awer the bike
  'fore Miss Walkinshaw's even goat hur teeth oot hur watter
  jug. You???
<2JACK:>2  I've done three years at night school, I've got a diploma in
  "wool technology".
<2PHIL:>2  So? Whit dis that mean?
<2SPANKY:>2  He's haun-knittit.
<2JACK:>2  There's no point in talking to you . . . morons. <1Opens door.>1
  And there's more gum wanted out here . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ach, away ur wull paste ye!
  <1Exit Jack rapidly.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah think Ah'll away doon the Showroom an' huv a swatch
  at the new rugs, Phil . . .
<2PHIL:>2  <1Askance>1 Yur jokin'.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah'm away fur a smoke. Haud the fort. Ah'll huv a look
  fur Heck as well.
  <1Exits>1
  <1Phil gets some target practice in.>1
  <1Enter Lucille.>1
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit yese been sayin' tae Jack Hogg? He's sittin' oot there
  wi' his face like a hauf-chewed Penny Dainty.
<2PHIL:>2  Aw, it's clearin' up, is it?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Bernadette's boyfriend's gonnae come up an' gie you an'
  yur pal a doin' if ye don't hing aff.
<2PHIL:>2  Hing aff whit?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Jack Hogg. They went tae school thegither.
<2PHIL:>2  Trimmle . . . trimmle . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  He's nearly six fit. An' he's goat a yella belt . . .
<2PHIL:>2  How come? Can he no' yase his sleeves like everybody
  else.
<2LUCILLE:>2  S'only Bernadette that's haudin' him back fae comin' . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aw, she's a Catholic?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Eh?
<2PHIL:>2  Nothin'.
  <1Pause>1
<2LUCILLE:>2  Did ye see that play last night? Armchair Theatre . . . it
  wis great. Dinsdale Landen wis in it. It wis aw aboot . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Who?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Dinsdale Landen. He's an actor. Young guy, ferr herr . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Wi' a big enormous bum?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Aw, shuttit. He wis really terrific . . . dead dramatic. He
  wis playin' this fella that's oan the run . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aw, another wan?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit?
<2PHIL:>2  Nothin'. Carry on . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Well, he's tryin' tae escape fae these two guys that ur
  tryin' tae murder him.
<2PHIL:>2  Whit fur?
<2LUCILLE:>2  How should Ah know?
<2PHIL:>2  It wis you that seen it. Ye ought tae know whit they wur
  tryin' tae murder him fur.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Stoap askin' stupit questions, you. Ye want tae hear aboot
  this ur no'? Well . . . anyhow, he's stranded oot in this
  remote cottage . . . miles fae anywhere . . . an' he's lyin'
  in his bed, blood gushin' oot his heid . . .
<2PHIL:>2  He's hurt?
<2LUCILLE:>2  You gonnae listen?
<2PHIL:>2  Sorry.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Blood gushin' oot his heid . . . when he hears this noise..
  a kinda "scrape . . . scrape" . . . So he jumps oota bed an'
  ye see ...
<2PHIL:>2  His big enormous bum. He's furgoat his pajamma troosers.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Thur's nae sense in talkin tae you, Phil McCann. Ye never
  take nothin' seriously . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ah'm listenin' . . . honest.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ah came in here fur gum. Oot ma road. S'this it . . . <1Picks>1
  <1up pot>1 . . . the fresh stuff?
<2PHIL:>2  Jist newly made up . . . day afore the Coronation. D'ye
  want us tae cut ye a slice?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Bernadette's fiance 's gonnae come up an' make mincemeat
  oota you. Don't say ye huvnae been warned. Where's the
  clean dishes? Thur's never any dishes washed in this Slab.
  Yese ur a bunch a lazy . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Don't you start. Wuv hud Wullie oan at us aw moarnin'.
  Wur up tae here wi' castigations. There's wan . . . <1Gives>1
  <1dirty dish a wipe.>1
<2LUCILLE:>2  Playin' mud pies again?
<2PHIL:>2  Ha, ha. <1Pause.>1 Em . . . Lucille . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit is it? <1Dips into gumpot.>1 D'ye never think tae strain
  this stuff?
<2PHIL:>2  Ah wis wantin' tae ask ye somethin'.
LUClLLE:  S'fulla things . . . <1Produces "thing" from pot.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Ah wis wantin'tae ask ye . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ask away. Ah'm no' gonnae eat ye. <1Goes to sink.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Ah wis wonderin' if ye'd . . . er . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Wonderin' if Ah'd whit?
<2PHIL:>2  If ye'd ... er. . . um ...like tae . .. er. . .
  <1In a rush.>1 If ye'd like tae go tae the Staffie wi' me?
  <1Just then a face appears at the window. A dirty>1
  <1bloodstained rag round its forehead. Lucille drops>1
  <1everything and rushes out screaming.>1
<2PHIL:>2  <1Puzzled.>1 Ah realise Ah'm urnae Dinsdale Landrover but . . .
  <1Sees Hector.>1  Godalmighty!! !!!
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Distraught.>1 Fur Christ's sake let us in, Phil. It's me...
  Heck. Ah'm bbbloody ffffreezin' oot here. Ah'm gonnae
  lose ma grip in a minnit.
<2PHIL:>2  <1Grabbing hold of him.>1 Whit ye daein' oot there, Hector?
  Wur three flairs up!
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Clambering in.>1 Ah climbed up the rone pipe. Ah'm turnin'
  blue. Where's ma claes?
<2PHIL:>2  Sadie's still goat them. Makin' a lovely joab ae them, Heck.
<2HECTOR:>2  Where's ma troosers? They gonnae be much longer?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw, she's cut a big daud aff them. Thull probably come
  up tae aboot here. <1Indicates knee.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Alarmed.>1 Whit???
<2PHIL:>2  Ah'm only kiddin' . . . thur really smashin'. Ah hud a
  skite at them at dinner time.
<2HECTOR:>2  Is it the efternin arready? Ah must've passed oot in the
  Bubbin Shed. Ah've loast a loat a blood fae this. <1Holds>1
  <1ear.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Ach, Ah only gie'd it a sneck, Heck. If Ah hudnae liked
  ye Ah'd a taken the lot aff...
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit aboot ma claes Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Okay, okay. Ah'll nip alang an' see if thur ready. You stay
  here. <1Exits only to reappear immediately.>1 Wullie Curry!
  Quick, Heck . . . hide!
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Panic stricken.>1 Christ!!!
<2PHIL:>2  <1Shoving him into cupboard.>1 In the cupboard . . . hurry up!!
  <1Enter Curry.>1
<2CURRY:>2  <1Pointing at cupboard.>1 That's his hidey-hole, isn't it?
<2PHIL:>2  <1Jaw dropping.>1 Eeeeeehhhhhhhhh . . . ?
<2CURRY:>2  Didn't Farrell put it there this morning?
<2PHIL:>2  Eh?
<2CURRY:>2  The fresh batch of gum. Now, where is it?
<2PHIL:>2  Er . . . there . . . <1Stretches hand out.>1
<2CURRY:>2  <1Looking round.>1 Where?
  <1Hector's outstretched hand appears holding gum>1
  <1pot. Phil takes pot and holds it out.>1
<2PHIL:>2  There.
<2CURRY:>2  Good God. <1Takes dish goes to door. Looks at dish then at>1
  <1Phil then back to dish.>1
  <1Exits.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Thanks, Heck.
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Muffled.>1 Can Ah come oot noo?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw, stay where ye are furra coupla minits. Ah'll see if
  yur claes ur ready. No' be long.
<1Exits.>1
<1Enter Spanky.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah couldnae fun the wee fulla . . . <1Looks round.>1 Aw . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Muffled.>1 S'at you, Phil?
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
<2HECTOR:>2  Is the coast clear?
<2SPANKY:>2  Who is that?
<2HECTOR:>2  It's me . . . Hector.
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Looking up.>1 Aw, aye . . . ur ye deid?
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Tumbling out.>1 Ah thought Ah wis gonnae pass oot again . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Jumping.>1 Waaaagh!!! Godalmighty, yur heid!
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit's wrang? S'it bad? Aw, God!
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw . . . naw . . . s'really . . . stunnin'.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah hud tae dive oot the lavvy windae. Luk at ma kneecaps.
  Thur aw skint.
<2SPANKY:>2  They go nice wi' yur heid.
<2HECTOR:>2  If Wullie catches me like this Ah'm had it.
<2SPANKY:>2  Yur no' furgettin' yuv tae go an' see him?
<2HECTOR:>2  How could Ah furget? Ah cannae dae nothin' tull ma claes
  arrive.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ach, stoap yur moanin', Heck. Yull jist huv tae be patient.
<2HECTOR:>2  Patient? Patient? Ah'm staunin' here, freezin' tae death . . .
  blood runnin' oot ma ear, heid nippin' wi' the cauld . . .
  Wullie's efter me . . . ma hauns ur like two bunches a frozen
  bananas an' you've goat the cheek tae say be patient??? Luk
at ma nut! Gaun, luk! Mebbe it is "stunnin" but Godalmighty
it isnae hauf goupin'! An' ma knees . . . Maaaaaaaammy!!!
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Alarmed.>1 Keep yur voice doon, Heck . . . an' don't keep
  blamin' yursel'. It wis that swine Phil.
<2HECTOR:>2  And you, ya pig! <1Loudly.>1 Where's ma claes?????
<2HECTOR:>2  Shhhhhhhhhh - - - thur's somebody comin'. Back in yur
  hole, Heck . . . hurry!! <1Rushes Hector back into cupboard.>1
  <1Enter Lucille accompanied by Jack Hogg.>1
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ah'm tellin' ye, Jack . . . Ah definitely saw somethin' there
  . . . ootside the windae. Mother's life . . . a horrible face,
  like wan ae them gargoyles . . . a durty rag roon here . . .
  an' great big starin' eyes . . .
<2JACK:>2  <1Looking out of window.>1 There certainly doesn't seem to
  be anything there now, Lucille. You're positive about
  this . . . face?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ah swear tae God. It wis ghastly. Right hideous.
<2JACK:>2  But we're three stories up. I don't see how any face could
  have got up here.
<2LUCILLE:>2  He'll tell ye. He seen it an' aw. Didn't ye?
<2SPANKY:>2  Who, me? Ah never seen nothin'. Ah've only jist came in.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Wur you no' here? Ah came in fur some gum an' Ah wis
  staunin' there tellin' ye aboot Dinsdale Landen . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Landin' where?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Right there, an' this face suddenly appeared.
<2SPANKY:>2  Yuv loast me, Lucille.
<2LUCILLE:>2  But, ye must've seen it.
<2JACK:>2  Well, there's certainly nothing there now, Lucille, so if I
  could get back?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Aye . . . okay . . . if yur sure thur's nothin' there . . . Okay,
  Jack, thanks fur huvvin' a look.
<2JACK:>2  As if I hadn't enough on my plate. Women . . . faces . . .
  gargoyles . . .
  <1Exits>1
<2LUCILLE:>2  You absolutely positive?
<2SPANKY:>2  How could Ah if Ah wisnae here?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Aye, right enough.
<2SPANKY:>2  Thanks.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ah still think . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Er. . . mm. . . Lucille. . . er. . . while yur here. . . em. . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Mmm?
<2SPANKY:>2  While yur here . . . em . . . Ah thought Ah might huv a
  word . . . aboot the Staffie . . . Staff Dance . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah wis wantin' tae know if you an' me . . . ye know?
  <1Hector appears groggily from cupboard. Lucille screams>1
  <1and rushes out.>1 Whit wis up wi' hur? Only asked hur a
  civil question. <1Sees Hector.>1 Aw, it wis you, ya wee rat!!!
  Ye went an' gie'd that lassie a helluva fright!
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah couldnae help it. Ah wis tryin' tae hear whit ye wur
  sayin' tae hur.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah wis tryin' tae saften hur up fur you, ya wee pig!
<2HECTOR:>2  How wis Ah tae know? Ah'm sorry. S'nae fun in there,
  ye know. A guy could suffocate. Oh, ma ear!!
  <1Enter Phil.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Ho !!! <1Hector and Spanky panic.>1 Ah thought Ah told you
  tae stay in there? Ah could've been Wullie Curry there.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye . . . no' withooot some painful operations.
<2HECTOR:>2  Where's ma claes? Ye promised tae get ma claes.
<2PHIL:>2  Sadie's pittin' a hem up oan the blouse. <1Hector almost has>1
  <1siezure.>1 A joke . . . a joke . . . Thur oan thur way. Look, ye
  better make yursel' scarce. Wullie's hoverin' aboot like a
  King Cobra waitin' tae strike. Gie's a haun, Spanky. <1They>1
  <1bundle Hector into cupboard.>1
  <1Enter Alan in a new white dustcoat.>1
  <1Spanky and Phil start to hum "Dr Kildare" theme.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  "Who's under the knife the day, Kildare? "
<2PHIL:>2  "It's that young kid that lost both his playpieces in the bus
  smash, Gillespie. "
<2SPANKY:>2  "What group is he, Kildare?"
<2PHIL:>2  "Fourteenth Barrhead Lifeboys."
<2SPANKY:>2  "This is gonna be tricky, Doc. There's none in the frigidaire.
  Whadda we gonna do? "
<2PHIL:>2  "I'll give him one of my kidneys. See if that'll pull him thru
  . . . pore li'l guy."
<2SPANKY:>2  "Is that what was on the pieces? "
<2PHIL:>2  "No . . . but I gave my potted heid to the nun we operated
  on last night."
<2SPANKY:>2  "And how's she doin', Kildare? Did the graft take?"
<2PHIL:>2  "Fraid not, Doctor. It was a Friday." <1Takes a swing at Alan>1
  <1with palette knife.>1
<2ALAN:>2  <1jumping back.>1 Hey, watch it! This is new.
<2PHIL:>2  An' whit you werrin' if fur?
<2ALAN:>2  To protect my blazer of course.
  <1Enter Curry.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Fit alright, Alan?
<2ALAN:>2  Like a glove, Mr Curry.
<2SPANKY:>2  S'at the thumb hingin' oot the back?
<2ALAN:>2  <1Craning round.>1 Where? <1Phil takes the opportunity to pinch>1
  <1Alan's pen.>1
<2CURRY:>2  There's Magenta and Rose Pink needed in the Design Room
  right away. Jack's on a rush job. McCann . . . Farrell . . . in
  the cabinet in twenty minutes . . . two large dishes . . . or
  Mr Barton's going to hear. Okay? Twenty minutes. And I
  don't want to see either of you poking a nose out of this
  door before those shades are ready. Capisce?
  <1Exits.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Plooky Jack an' his plooky rush joabs!
<2PHIL:>2  Better dae as he says, Spanky. He wisnae kiddin'. <1Combs>1
  <1hair in mirror.>1 The young intern'll gie ye a haun.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit aboot you?
<2PHIL:>2  Ah'm combin' ma herr . . . ye blind?
<2ALAN:>2  I don't really mind helping.
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw, lea' it tae the pros, kid. You've goat somethin' mair
  important tae dae.
<2ALAN:>2  Oh?
<2SPANKY:>2  Pop intae the "Ladies" an' ask Sadie fur Heck's clobber.
  Right?
<2ALAN:>2  I don't see that that's more imp . . . <1Spanky grabs his lapels>1
  <1and holds on.>1 Okay, okay, I think I can manage . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Keep breathin', Heck. Wuv sent Lord Fauntleroy oot fur
  the threads. Wull soon huv ye oota there . . .
<2PHIL:>2  An' luckin' a million dollars.
<2SPANKY:>2  Don't exaggerate . . . hauf a million. Lucille'll be a push-
  over.
<2PHIL>2  A cinch.
<2SPANKY:>2  Putty in yur hauns.
<2PHIL:>2  Don't you be durty, you.
  <1Enter Alan out of breath but carrying parcel.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Gosh, that was a close shave.
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Grabbing parcel.>1 Let's have a gander. <1Holds up trousers.>1
  <1They look like jodhpurs.>1 Jeesus! Dis Sadie know whit
  drainpipes luk like??
<2PHIL:>2  Aye . . . wan ae hur boys is in the Pony Club.
<2SPANKY:>2  An' luk at the shurt. <1Holds it up.>1 Whit size is Heck?
<2PHIL:>2  Thirteen an' a hauf.
<2SPANKY:>2  No' his chist, Stoopit . . . his neck?
<2PHIL:>2  Three an' five eigths . . . wi' a muffler oan.
<2SPANKY:>2  Heh, Alfie, ye better take these back tae Sadie an' get hur
  tae dae somethin' . . .
<2ALAN:>2  'Fraid she's gone round with the trolley now.
<2SPANKY:>2  Heck's gonnae look a right palooka in this get-up.
<2PHIL:>2  Shhhh. he'll hear ye.
<2ALAN:>2  How can Hector hear?
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Stumbling from cupboard.>1 Someone call?
<2ALAN>2  Christ All Mighty!
<2PHIL:>2  You'll go tae the bad fire.
<2SPANKY:>2  Lookout!!! Somebody's comin'! <1They bundle Hector back>1
  <1in cupboard along with togs.>1
  <1Enter Curry>1
<2CURRY:>2  McKenzie still AWOL?
<2SPANKY:>2  Jist missed him, Mr Curfew.
<2CURRY:>2  Where's he hiding himself now?
<2SPANKY:>2  Hidin' himsel'? Er . . . aw, Ah see whit ye mean . . . ha, ha.
<2CURRY:>2  How's the Magenta coming along? <1Comes up to slab.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Stirring furiously.>1 Aw, no' bad. Jist aboot ready.
<2CURRY:>2  That's Umber, Farrell.
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
<2CURRY:>2  Burnt Umber.
<2SPANKY:>2  S'no' ma fault. Ah never burnt it.
<2CURRY:>2  Get that dished, laddie, and get some Magenta on there,
  toute de suite. No more shenanigans. How's the Rose Pink,
  McCann? <1Phil dollops daud on hand.>1 Still very lumpy! Put
  some elbow grease into it. You've got another ten minutes
  . . . or . . . <1Draws finger across throat.>1 Comprendez?
  <1Exits>1
<2PHIL:>2  Comprendez? <1He and Spanky chop their slabs in a frenzy.>1
  Wance Ah get that phone call . . .
<2ALAN:>2  <1Taking dish of umber.>1 Will I put this out in the cabinet?
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw better still, pit it oot in the cabinet.
  <1Exit Alan.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Some mess ye made ae the boy's napper.
<2PHIL:>2  That's the thanks ye get. Spent an 'oor tryin' tae get Heck
  luckin' like Lucille's dreamboat, Van Johnstone . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Mair like Van Gogh the way ye went through his ear.
<2PHIL:>2  S'no'.easy cuttin' herr, ye know . . . Try it sometime.
  <1EnterAlan.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Hey, is it any good? The Staff Dance . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
<2ALAN:>2  The Staffie. Is it good fun?
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit you wantin' tae know fur? Yur no' thinkin' a buyin'
  a ticket, ur ye?
<2ALAN:>2  No. Mr Curry just gave me his . . . a double. He won't be
  going. His wife's attending the foot clinic.
<2PHIL:>2  That's handy. Don't need tae try a leg, dae ye?
<2ALAN:>2  I'll probably bump into you there.
<2PHIL:>2  How? Can ye no' dance right?
<2SPANKY:>2  If ye fancy a few pints a green wine afore ye get there let
  us know. ..
<2ALAN:>2  I'll think it over.
<2SPANKY:>2  You dae that, son . . . so we can tell ye where tae meet up.
  <1A moaning sound.>1 Whit did ye say?
<2ALAN:>2  I didn't say anything.
  <1Another moan.>1
<2SPANKY>2  Christ! Hector...<1They turn as Hector falls out of cupboard>1
          <1onto floor in restyled togs.>1
<2PHIL:>2  He's schamin'. Ah saw wan ae his eyelids flicker.
<2SPANKY:>2  Wake up, ya wee ratbag.
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Being hauled to feet.>1 Ah think Ah blacked oot. It goat
  very warm in there . . . <1Reorientates himself.>1 Well? <1Twirls.>1
  Whit dae ye think?
<2SPANKY:>2  S'incredible, Heck . . . jist incredible. Never seen nothin'
  like it.
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit dae you think, Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Er . . . um . . . they comfy? <1Indicates trousers which Hector>1
  <1has put on back to front.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Aye . . . <1Looks down at trousers front.>1 Thur's jist wan thing
<2PHIL:>2  Aw, ye noticed? S'the very latest.
<2HECTOR:>2  Aye, Ah know that but how dae Ah go furra . . .?
<2PHIL:>2  Ye don't, son. They run a pipe doon the leg intae a ten
  gallon rubber boot.
<2SPANKY:>2  Yuv goat them oan back tae front, ya balloon. The buttons
  ur up the back.
<2PHIL:>2  Jist like Uncle Bertie's.
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Rounding quickly.>1 Whit?
<2PHIL:>2  Jist like they hud in the Therties . . . It wis aw the go. Ye
  must've seen them musicals. Fred Astaire dancin' wi' Roy
  Rogers. They baith hud thur troosers buttoned up the back.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah never noticed . . .
<2PHIL:>2  That's cos Fred always wore them tall coats . . . an' Roy . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Roy wis sittin' doon . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Oan Trigger.
<2SPANKY:>2  How dis the shurt feel?
<2HECTOR:>2  S'nice an' easy oan ma throat.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, s'at special design . . . an aff-the-shooder coallar.
<2HECTOR:>2  Looks awright then, Spanky?
<2SPANKY:>2  S'a knockout, Hector.
<2PHIL:>2  A knockout.
<2HECTOR:>2  So ye think Lucille'll bite?
<2PHIL:>2  Yur Maw'll be askin' whose the teethmarks ur when she
  gie's ye yur bath the night. Lucille is gonnae flip!
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Brightly.>1 Nae kidden', Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Nae kiddin', Heck.
<2ALAN:>2  Hector, I feel I ought to . . .
  <1Phil holds up Parker pen. Alan can see but not>1
  <1Hector.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit?
<2ALAN:>2  Oh . . . nothing . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Dae you like it?
<2ALAN:>2  It's . . . <1Phil holds pen up.>1 . . . er . . . really gadgey, Heck.
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Eagerly.>1 Wull Ah go the noo an' ask hur? Wull Ah?
  <1Heads for door.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Cutting him off.>1 Ehhhh . . . no' jist yet, Hector. Remember
  yuv still goat tae go an' see Wullie.
<2HECTOR:>2  Aye, but Ah can dae that efter Ah've asked Lucille.
<2PHIL:>2  Naw, Spanky's right, Heck. Better go an' see Wullie furst.
  S'important. Lucille'll no' go aff the boil. Here, Ah'll gie
  ye ma coat tae pit oan. <1Takes off dust coat.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Whit dae Ah want that fur? Ah don't mind daein' a bitta
  swankin' noo that ma claes ur up tae date.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, but ye don't want anybody tae get a preview, dae ye?
  Lessen the impact . . . know whit Ah mean? Get the coat
  oan.  <1Thrusts Hector's arm inside.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Pulling out balaclava.>1 Ye better pit this oan an' aw . . . here
  . . .  S'draughty in Wullie's room. Cosy, eh?
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Bamboozled.>1 Aye, but . . . wull he no' think Ah'm a bit
  happed up?
<2PHIL:>2  That's jist it. Yuv been doon at the Nurse. Influenza . . .
  vergin' oan pleurisy. She ordered ye hame but you decided
  tae soldier on. He'll like that.
<2SPANKY:>2  Mebbe no' gie ye yur . . . ahem . . . er . . .
<2PHIL:>2  <1Quickly.>1 Yur wireless back . . . yur wireless.
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Puzzled.>1 Ah'm no' expectin' him tae gie me it back . . .
  Ye know whit he's like . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Well, ye cannae expect it back jist cos yuv goat the flu,
  Heck.
<2PHIL:>2  Triple pneumonia, Spanky.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah'm aw mixed up. Whit've Ah goat again?
<2SPANKY:>2  Triple pneumonia.
<2PHIL:>2  Double rupture.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah'll away alang then.
<2SPANKY:>2  Good man. Aw the best.
<2PHIL:>2  Good luck, Heck. <1Exit Hector.>1 Yull need it.
  <1They hold on to one another laughing.>1
<2ALAN:>2  I still think it's a mean trick to play.
<2SPANKY:>2  Oh, do you, by jove?
<2PHIL:>2  A trick, you cad?? Take that! <1Smacks Alan's head.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Hey, watch it! That was sore. Chuckit!! Okay, I'm speaking
  out of turn but that poor little bastard's gone off to Willie
  Curry's office thinking that underneath that dustcoat and
  helmet he really does cut a dash and he'll probably stop off
  on the way back to have a word with Lucille . . . doff the
  coat and hat and you know what'll happen then. She'll wet
  herself . . . which will give you and your crummy friend a
  big laugh, won't it?
<2PHIL:>2  Listen, Sir Galahad . . . if it wisnae fur me an' Spanky here
  that "poor little bastard" widnae huv any pals. Aye, that's
  right. So we dae take the piss, set him up a bit . . .
<2ALAN:>2  More than a bit . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Shuttit! Know whit he done last Summer?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah don't think he wants tae hear . . .
<2PHIL:>2  He's talkin' aboot us playin' durty tricks . . . he's gonnae
  hear. Know whit the stupit mug done? Jist cos some lassie
  widnae luk the road he wis oan . . . know whit he done?
  Swalleed a hunner an' fifty Aspros . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Washed doon wi' a boattle a Domestos.
<2PHIL:>2  Burnt the linin' ootae his stomach.
<2SPANKY:>2  Still cannae eat chips ur that.
<2PHIL:>2  Touch an' go, it wis. Listen, whit me an' him's done is
  gie Hector the courage tae go an' ask Lucille straight
oot fur a date. Okay, so she's gonnae wet hersel' but
you think twice before ye start applyin' yur stupit
counterfeit middle class code a 'fair play' in here.
You don't know yur livin' sweetheart! <1Moves to>1
<1door.>1 An' if Wullie Curry wants tae know where Ah
am Ah'm doon the bog smokin' . . . two fags at
wance!
  <1Exits.>1
  <1Silence.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Is that true . . . about Hector?
<2SPANKY:>2  S'true awright.
<2ALAN:>2  And Phil found him . . . brought him round?
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw . . . happened at a boardin' hoose in Rothesay. His
  Maw fun the note tucked intae hur beach bag . . . made
  him be sick doon the pan. The landlady wis quite
  sympathetic . . . then Heck brung up the bleach an'
  took the flooers aff the wallpaper.
<2ALAN:>2  I'm going to stop him before he makes a complete fool
  of himself. <1Moves to door.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah widnae dae that if Ah wis you, Armando. <1Alan hesitates.>1
  Ye don't know whit Phil's like. <1Alan still hesitates.>1 He's
  goat some temper. <1Alan swithers.>1 Come on . . . The Rose
  Pink's ready. <1Alan takes hand off door handle.>1 Wise boy
  . . . Here, you get they dishes fae awer there . . . the clean
  wans . . .
  <1Enter Jack with wages tray.>1
<2JACK:>2  I don't know what I'm taking these round for . . . Lucille
  should be doing this. I've got a big job on. Farrell . . . G.
  There you go. <1Chucks Spanky's wage packet to him.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Thanks, Jacko . . . gie's Phil an' aw . . . he's doon the bog.
<2JACK:>2  McCann . . . McCann . . . two N's, am I right? McAllister,
  McAuley, McBain McCourtney, McDonald . . . Mc . . . nope,
  doesn't seem to be anything for him.
<2SPANKY:>2  C'mon, Jackie Boy . . . stoap messin' about. Come on . . .
<2JACK:>2  There's nothing for him . . . look.
<2SPANKY:>2  Bloody hell. Gie's Hector's then.
<2JACK:>2  McFarlane, McInness, McLauchlan, McLeod . . . Nothing
  for Hector either.
<2SPANKY:>2  Jeez . . .
<2JACK:>2  There'll be something for you next time, Alan . . . won't
  be a lot, you understand. Just enough to invest in some new
  rolling stock. It's a double O gauge you've got? Yeah . . .
  there's a chap in the Club looking to get rid of a Hornby
  Dubblo with two six-two-fours and a couple of dozen
  cattle wagons. Let me know if you're interested. They're
  all in good nick . . . he's only asking a flver. Pretty good
  value, by all accounts. He's gone over to yachts. Better
  get these downstairs. Oh, I've got those mags you wanted
  to see. Some of your Dad's stuff in one of them. Pretty
  nifty . . . See you anon.
<2ALAN:>2  Yeah . . . see you later, Jack.
  <1Exit Jack.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Bloody funny that . . .
<2ALAN:>2  Not really. Quite a number of chaps have taken to the
  water. My Dad and I were out at Hogganfield Loch on
  Sunday and the pond was jam-packed with hundreds of
  boats . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Aboot the two missin' wagepackets . . . Ah wis only hauf
  surprised aboot Hector's . . . but Phil's an' aw . . .?
  <2ALAN:>2  They might not've put his in with the others . . . could've
  been an oversight.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
  <2ALAN:>2  A discrepency.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Aw, aye . . . that's probably whit's happened. Aye, Ah can
  see how ye goat yur Highers, son. Ah'll away an' huv a word
  wi' the Cashier. See if thur's been a . . . ?
<2ALAN:>2  A discrepency?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, wan ae them. If Phil comes back jist say Ah'm away
  mendin' a fuse in Miss Walkinshaw's gless eye. Okay?
  <1Exits.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Yeh . . . right-o.
  <1Alan does some dainty grinding. Hums to himself.>1
  <1Enter Lucille very cautiously. Gives Alan a half->1
  <1hearted smile. Crosses to cupboard and gingerly>1
  <1opens door.>1
<2ALAN:>2  The gum's over there if you want some.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Naw, it's okay. Ah wisnae . . . <1Clears throat.>1 . . . Ah wasnae
  looking for that. <1Opens cupboard door again.>1 Ye huvnae
  seen... ?
<2ALAN:>2  Yes?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit?
<2ALAN:>2  You were sayin?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Wis . . . was I?
<2ALAN:>2  You were asking if I'd seen something?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Seen something?
<2ALAN:>2  Yes. You said, "You huvnae seen . . . "
<2LUCILLE:>2  <1Sour smile.>1 Aw, aye - - - er - - - <1Points to James Dean>1
  <1Poster.>1 "Rebel Without A Cause" You huvnae saw "Rebel
  Without a Cause"?
<2ALAN:>2  No, that's true. Must've missed it when it came round our
  way.
<2LUCILLE:>2  <1Askance.>1 Whit?? Yuv never seen it ??? Where've you been
  hidin'. It was a double bill with "East of Eden". Me and
Bernadette sat through it twice;
<1Gazes at poster.>1 Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. <1Pause.>1 We
cried our eyes out when his Porsche turned over and he was
kilt.
<2ALAN:>2  Oh, it was a racing picture?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Whit??
<2ALAN:>2  "East of Eden" . . . it was a rac . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ah don't find that amusin'!
<2ALAN:>2  No, I didn't mean anything. I was only . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Didnae take you long tae get intae bad habits.
<2ALAN:>2  Sorry, I don't understand. I . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ach . . . yese ur aw the same!!
  <1Flounces out.>1
<2ALAN:>2  But I love Terry Dene . . . honest. Lucille . . .
  <1Enter Phil and Spanky.>1
<2PHIL:>2  You huvnae been sayin' anythin' tae hur, huv ye? See'f ye
  huv . . .
<2ALAN:>2  No, I haven't, if you must know.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, an' ye better no'.
<2ALAN:>2  <1Indicates poster.>1 That is "Whatdyemecallim", isn't it?
<2PHIL:>2  Miles Malleson? Aye.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye . . . tragic. Cut doon in his prime.
<2PHIL:>2  His plane crashed.
<2SPANKY:>2  In the mountains.
<2PHIL:>2  The Urinals.
<2SPANKY:>2  Pilot wis pissed.
<2PHIL:>2  He wis kilt stone dead alang wi' Buddy Greco an' the Big
  Bopper.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye must've read aboot it.
<2PHIL:>2  It wis oan the wireless . . . Pathe Pictorial.
  <1Enter Sadie with trolley.>1
<2SADIE:>2  There ye go, ma lovelies. There's yur dainties.
<2PHIL and SPANKY:>2  Ooooooo.
<2SADIE:>2  Yur macaroni tarts.
<2PHIL and SPANKY>2  Ooooo!
<2SADIE:>2  Choclit horns . . .
<2PHIL and SPANKY>2  Ooooo!
<2SADIE:>2  Penny baps . . .
<2PHIL and SPANKY>2  Ooooo!
<2SADIE:>2  Roobert Turnovers.
<2PHIL and SPANKY>2  Ooooo!
<2SADIE:>2  Caramel Waferettes an' don't aw rush us, Ah know yese've
  jist been paid. Come on.
<2PHIL:>2  Aaaahh . . . ye never told us the wages wis roon. Come on,
  Spanks, make wi' the green jobs . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah can len' ye ye ten bob . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Quit the kiddin'. Ah'm starvin' . . . C'mon.
<2ALAN:>2  There wasn't anything for you. Jack Hogg came round with
  the tray. He looked twice. Two, please, Sadie, and I'll have
  one of those.
<2SPANKY:>2  That's right, Phil. Ah've jist been alang tae the Cashier tae
  check if thur wis. <1Looks at Alan.>1  They said you an'
  Heck's wis bein' made up special.
<2ALAN:>2  A discrepency.
<2PHIL:>2  Sufferin' Christ.
<2SADIE:>2  Wid yese listen tae that language. You haud yur ears, son.
 That's terrible, you. Thur's young boys in here isnae yased
  tae that kinda talk.
  <2SPANKY:>2  'Least you've goat the Art Academy tae luk forward tae.
  Heck's goat sweet eff all. Absolute piss-nothin'.
  <2SADIE:>2  Language. That's bloody hellish, so it is.
  <2PHIL:>2  Bugger Heck. Whit aboot me? The Art School's six month
  away.
  <2SADIE:>2  Tch, tch, tch. Ur youse wantin' tea youse two? Ah'm
  takin' this trolley away in a minute . . .
  <2SPANKY:>2  The lassie'll be phonin' soon. It's Hector that's the prob-
  lem. He's only goat his Maw. Whit's he gonnae tell hur?
  Thur's no' a loat a openin's fur Slab Boys.
  <2SADIE:>2  Fur the last time, ur youse huvvin' somethin' aff this
  trolley?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Gie's two teas. Ye wantin' wan, Phil?
  <1Silence.>1
  <2SADIE:>2  Whit's up wi' him?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Ye wantin' somethin' tae eat?
  <2PHIL:>2  Ye know Ah've nae money. Whit ye askin' fur?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Ah'll get it. Ye want a macaroni cake?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw.
<2SPANKY:>2  A choclit horn? <1Silence.>1 Ye can play Aul' Man River oan
  it.
<2PHIL:>2  Ah'm no' wantin' nothin'.
<2SADIE:>2  Aw, stick, Bubbly. <1Pours tea for Spanky.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Gie's a bap.
<2SADIE:>2  Thruppence ha'penny.
<2SPANKY:>2  How come? S'three ha'pence fur tea an' the baps ur a penny.
<2SADIE:>2  Ye spent that long makin' up yur mind thuv went up. Thrupp-
  ence ha'penny. <1Spanky proffers ten shilling note.>1 Ye nae
  chainge? How'm Ah supposed tae chainge a ten shullin' note?
  Thur aw gie'in me notes the day. Luk . . . not a bit a silver in
  ma boax. Yull need tae get chainge.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah'll gie ye it the morra, Sadie.
<2ALAN:>2  The morra's Saturday an' fine you know it. D'ye think Ah
  came up the Clyde oan this trolley? Get chainge. . . Ah'll
  wait.
<2SPANKY:>2  You goat any, Arthur?
<2ALAN:>2  I'm not sure. Wait and I'll have a look. <1Takes out purse.>1
PHlL:  Christ. Where dae ye keep that, kid? Up the leg ae yur
  brassiere?
<2SADIE:>2  Ah've hud enough oota you. Wan mair bitta language an'
  Ah'll draw ma haun across yur jaw. Jist gie that boy there
  peace. Whit herm's he done you? Ya bloody . . .
<2ALAN:>2  No, I don't seem to have quite that much. I can give you a
  loan of something till you get it changed.
<2SPANKY:>2  Naw, s'awright, Ah'll dae withoot.
<2SADIE:>2  Ye no' wantin' these then? The penny bap . . . ur the tea?
<2SPANKY:>2  The tea's cauld. <1Replaces it on trolley.>1 An' the bap's foosty
  . . . <1Shoves it in Alan's top pocket.>1
<2SADIE:>2  That's cos you're staunin' there askin' Durtygub if he wants
  anythin'. Nae wunner yur tea's cauld. Whit ye tryin' tae
  coax him fur? He's aye in a mood aboot somethin'.
<2PHIL:>2  Aw, shove off, ya auld midden.
<2SADIE:>2  Ah heard that, ya swine. <1Races over and hits Phil on head.>1
  Ah heard ye. If wan ae ma boys wis here he'd stoat ye aff
  that wa', so he wid.
<2PHIL:>2  Oyah . . . Oyah . . . <1Clutches head.>1 Ye hut us wi' yur ring!
  Oyah.
  <1Spanky is up nicking eclairs while this is happening.>1
<2SADIE:>2 Yur the Big Cheese in here,Philip McCann, but jist you
  watch it. Jist you mind yur manners. <1Siezes trolley.>1 Right?
  <1Alan nips up smartly and opens door.>1 Yull no' talk tae me
  like that. Thanks son, yur a gent.
  <1Exits.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Whit wis up wi' hur? Jeesus, ma heid! That wis some crack.
<2SPANKY>2  Here . . . <1Hands him eclair->1 Pit that oan it-
<2PHIL:>2  Ta... ouch ...
<2SPANKY:>2  She's jist peeved at missin' hur dinner daein' the alterations.
  An' she's at a funny age an' aw. Ma Maw's the same. Lashes
  oot at me an' the bree fur nothin'. The Sunday Post Doactor
  says its nothin' tae worry aboot. They aw go like that. These
  ur good, in't they?
<2PHIL:>2  No' bad.
<2ALAN:>2  Is that Terry Dene?
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Looking inside eclair.>1 Where?
<2ALAN:>2  <1Pointing at poster.>1 Him . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  You ignorant ur somethin'?
<2ALAN:>2  Come on . . . is it? Terry Dene?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, aye, that's who it is.
<2ALAN:>2  The one that was in "Rebel Without A Cause" and "East of
  Aden"?
<2SPANKY:>2  Suez . . . ye mean 'East of Suez'.
<2ALAN:>2  Yeah . . . I think that's the one. About motor racing . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  That's the one. Only it wis camels.
<2ALAN:>2  No, I don't think it was about ca . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah'm tellin' ye, so shuttit. Him an' Frankie Laine raced
  roon the Sphinx fur Audrey Murphy's haun. Frankie won
  by a nose so they gie'd him Audrey's haun. An' Terry goat
  the rest ae hur. Right?
<2PHIL:>2  Think Ah'll take a walk, Spanky. Huv a drag . . . <1Crosses>1
  <1to door.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye no' wantin' tae hing aboot in case yur phone call comes?
<2PHIL:>2  Naw . . . <1Pauses for a moment.>1 . . . You can take it. Jist
  say yur me. Don't think Ah'm gonnae hear anyhow. S'that
  kinda day. Ah'm away doon the lavvies.
<2SPANKY:>2  Okay . . . if yur sure . . .
  <1Exit Phil.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Think I'll stroll off for a streamie myself.
  <1Exits.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Ponders.>1 Wunner if ma bladder's awright?
  <1Enter Jack.>1
<2JACK:>2      I'm looking for your chum.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Whit ye wantin' him fur?
<2JACK:>2  There's a phone call in Mr Barton's office. Sounded rather
  urgent . . . girl said it was the hospital.
<2SPANKY:>2  That's awright. Ah'll take it.
<2JACK:>2  I don't think you can. She was most insistant she speak to
  McCann himself.
<2SPANKY:>2  S'awright, Jacky Boy. <1Pushes past.>1 Ah'll take it. Ah'm
  authorised.
<2JACK:>2  I don't really think . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Take ma word fur it.
  <1Exits followed by Jack.>1
  <1Enter Sadie with trolley.>1
<2SADIE:>2  <1Looking round slab room.>1 Nae sign ae the bugger. <1Has a>1
  <1look round.>1 Come out, ya louse. Too bloody saft, that's
  ma trouble. Well, he's no' gettin' aff wi' it this time. Fift-
  een shillins! Not on yur Nelly. It's enough tae drive ye tae
  drink . . . <1Goes to trolley. Pours herself cup of tea.>1 Many
  sugars, hen? Och, hiv three . . . <1Sits. Eases shoes off.>1 Oooo
  ooooch . . . <1Bends down to rub feet.>1
  <1Enter Lucille. She is unaware of Sadie.>1
  Ye any Epson Salts, hen?
  <2LUCILLE:>2  <1Almost jumps out of skin->1  Oh, my God!! Ach, it's you
  Whit'd ye go an' dae that fur? Ah nearly hud a...
  <2SADIE:>2  Oh, pardon me. I was only asking if you hud any Epsing
  Salts. Tae gie these a steep . . . ooooohhhhhya.
  <2LUCILLE:>2  Can ye no' trade them in fur a set a castors?
  <2SADIE:>2  Ye seen that shy boy, McCann?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Shy?
<2SADIE:>2  Aye . . . fifteen bloody bob shy . . . still owes us fur that . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  No' again. When ye gonnae wise up, Sadie?
<2SADIE:>2  God, if Ah thought these hud tae burl ma boady roon a
  dance flair the night . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ye no' gaun then? It wis a right laugh the last time . . .
<2SADIE:>2  Aye, hysterical. "Watch this, ladies" he says. Sprints the
  length ae the Hall, a pint a Youngers in his fist, an' takes a
  flyin' leap right awer the tap a Miss Walkinshaw. Perr ae
  them went straight unner the bandstand. Tae get wan ae
  the bouncers tae get them oot wi' a windae pole. Miss Walk-
  inshaw's good froak wis roon hur heid an' his leg wis right
  up his back. Tae get calrried oot in a fireman's lift. Taxi up
  tae the Infirmary. Took three hoors tae get him under the
  chloroform he wis that pie-eyed. Kept wakin' up an' shoutin'
  at the surgeon "Two pokey hats an' go easy oan the rasp-
  berry" . . . He hud ma hert roasted, so he did. Sittin' there
  wi' the leg up oanth fender . . . "See that", Ah says. "If
  you're no' up an' back tae yur work Ah'll draw this acroass
  yur back" Ah hud the poker in ma haun. Ah'd've done
  it an' aw. Hud me up tae high doh. Couldnae get the
  stookie doon the dungarees quick enough. Men?? Ah
  widnae waste ma time. Ah'd tae take the furst wan that
  came alang. Ah'd a been better aff wi' a Lucky Bag.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ach, thur's tons a men aboot noo. Ye can pick an'
  choose . . .
<2SADIE:>2  You'll learn, Flower. You're young yet. You can afford
  tae sift through the dross . . . till ye get tae the real
  rubbish at the bottom. Aw, naw . . . when ye reach ma
  age an' aw yuv goat tae show fur it is bad feet an' a
  display cabinet . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Well, not this cookie. Lucille Bentley . . . Woman of
  the World . . . fling oot yur men! Whit you've goat tae
  remember, auld yin, is thur's a war oan an' you're jist
  wan ae the walkin' wounded . . .
<2SADIE:>2  Here, whit time is it? Ah promised 'leapfrog' Ah'd get him
  a nice bit a fish fur his tea. Well, it's Friday. Wi' any luck
  he'll be hame wi' hauf his paypacket still oan him.
  <2LUCILLE:>2  Aye an' it'll be his ain hauf by the sound ae it. Ah
  widnae pit up wi' it . . .
  <2SADIE:>2  Ah'm bidin' ma time, sweetheart. Soon as Ah've goat
  a good wee bankbook Ah'm showin' the swine the door.
  See that? <1Indicates left breast.>1 Ah loast that awer the
  heid a him.
  <2LUCILLE:>2  Aaargh! Whit did he dae??
  <2SADIE:>2  Flang it in the midden. Thought it wis wan ae oor James's
  auld fitba's that goat burstit . . . Stupit luckin' . . .
  <2LUCILLE:>2  Eh?
  <2SADIE:>2  Naw, naw . . . hud that aff long afore Ah met Leap-
  frog". Up the Western. <1Enter Spanky looking preoccup.>1
  <1ied.>1 Here you, where's yur pal?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
  <2SADIE:>2  Fifteen bob fur a Dance ticket Ah'm after . . .
  <2SPANKY:>2  Aw, aye . . . <1Reaches into pocket.>1
  <2SADIE:>2  Mr Anderson . . . big strappin' man . . . heid surgeon
  up there . . . <1Takes money from Spanky.>1 Thanks, son.
  "That'll have to come away, Miss Jowett"' <1To Spanky.>1
  Thanks. <1To Lucille.>1 "Otherwise it'll go through yur hale
  system. Six months and you'll be a gonner" <1To Spanky.>1
  You can get it back easier than whit Ah can. <1To Lucille.>1
   Couldnae argue wi' that,Flower . . .
  <2SPANKY:>2  <1Checking .money.>1 Heh, Sadie, did Ah no' . . .?
  <2SADIE:>2  Felt a bit lop sided at furst but Ah kept ma trolley
  money in this poacket till Ah goat ma balance back.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Ah thought Ah'd arready . . .?
<2LUCILLE:>2  So long, sucker.
  <1Exits.>1
<2SADIE:>2  Thuv went away up, ye know. Nineteen an' eleven . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Looking at money in hand.>1 Haw, Sadie . . . that ticket . . .
<2SADIE:>2  Nineteen an' eleven. Furra single.
<2SPANKY:>2  It used tae be only fifteen bob . . .
<2SADIE:>2  Aye, but they're made a foam rubber noo, son.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aw . . .
<2SADIE:>2  You can get it aff him. Thanks.
  <1Exits.>1
  <1Enter Phil at the gallop. Followed by Alan more>1
  <1sedately.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Well??
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit?
<2PHIL:>2  Ye took a phone call . . . Jackie said.
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye . . . fae the hospital.
<2PHIL:>2  And?
<2SPANKY:>2  The lassie thought Ah wis you. Ye told me tae say Ah
  wis you.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, Ah know. Hurry up, tell us.
<2SPANKY:>2  It wis the hoaspital.
  <2PHIL:>2  <1Exasperrated.>1 Ah know that! Tell us the worst.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Yur Maw's vanished.
  <2PHIL:>2  Whit?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Shot the craw. Skedaddled.
  <2PHIL:>2  Ye mean it really wis the hoaspital?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Aye. That's whit Ah wis tryin' tae tell ye, Phil.
  <2PHIL:>2:  Christ.
  <2SPANKY:>2  They wur phonin' tae find oot if she'd been in touch
  wi' me . . . you, that is. They said no' tae be alarmed.
  <2PHIL:>2  Jeesus God. Whit if she turns up here? She'll pit a hat-
  chet through Miss Walkinshaw's heid . . . jist tae gie me
  a showin' up.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Thuv sent some people oot tae luk fur hur.
  <2PHIL:>2  She can be real vicious, ye know. She wance pit the
  coalman's legs under his lorry an' threatened the driver
  wi' the breid knife unless he drove awer them. Jist fur
  bein' a bag shoart in the gas cinders. How come Ah
  couldnae've hud a Maw like you guys? Eh? S'this how
  your Maw cairries oan, Alfred? Ur yours, Spanky? How
  come Ah never hud a sensible Maw?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Ye don't know that oor Maws is any mair sensible than
  yours, Phil.
  <2PHIL:>2  Aye, right sensible ma Maw sounds. "Hullo, this is the
  Nuthoose here. Yur Maw's escaped. Wur phonin' tae let
  ye know she's headin' fur yur work wi' a six fit knife
  an' foamin' at the mooth. She probably jist wants a
  chat." Aye, right bloody sensible. Your mothers is
  normal . . . sane . . . okay, hauf-sane. Get ye oot yur
  bed in the moarnin', blaw the ouse aff yur toast, heat
  yur togs at the gasfire, make up yur pieces. "Whit ye
  wantin' the day, son? Nice bit a haddie the wumman
  upsterrs gie'd us fur the cat. Wull Ah pit oan a slice a
  pan breid fur ye? Mind an' no' miss the bus. Rin noo"
How come Ah never hud a Maw like that? Aw ma
stupit bloody Maw done wis worry!  Worry aboot money
. . . aboot schools . . . gaun tae mass . . . missin' con-
fessions . . . gaun tae communion . . . gaun wi' lassies
. . . gettin' wur hole! Some bloody hope! Aw we knew
aboot lassies wis thur airms stuck oot sideways when
they ran. She wis worried??? Ah wis worried!! Ah
hope they trap hur!
<2SPANKY:>2  Maist ae wur Maws is a bit like that.
<2PHIL:>2  Bet ye his isnae! Well?
<2SPANKY:>2  Lea' him alane, Phil. He disnae know whit yur oan
  aboot.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, Ah bet ye he disnae.
<2SPANKY:>2  S'no' his fault.
<2PHIL:>2  <1To Alan.>1 Whit dae you know aboot brushin' yur teeth
  wi' cookin' fat an' pittin' soot oan yur piece, eh?
<2SPANKY:>2  Dae ye no' mean . . .?
<2PHIL:>2  Shuttit, Farrell. Ah'm talkin' tae the fat underbelly here.
  Well?
<2ALAN:>2  I'm sure you've got your problems but I don't see where
  I come in.
<2PHIL:>2  Well, it certainly isnae the tradesman's entrance, Petal.
  Straight up tae the front door fur you. "This way, sir.
  Let me take your golf clubs, sir. They must be cutting
  into your shooder" Well, Ah know where Ah'd like tae
  cut intae ye . . . <1Grabs Alan.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Rushing across.>1 Steady on, Phil. Ah don't think Alec's
  goat nothin' tae dae wi' . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, you stick wi' his lot, Spanky old sport. <1Releases>1
  <1Alan.>1 You always did know whit side yur madeira cake
  wis buttered.
<2SPANKY:>2  That's no' ferr. Ah wis only sayin' . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Ah'm away tae join the Hunt. Ah'll send the heid back
  fur yur Dad's Trophy Room . . . Alan.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit aboot yur wages, Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Stuff them up Curry's jaxie . . . Ah'm off! Tally-hooo
  oooooooooooooo.
  <1Exits.>1
  <1Pause.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye don't want tae pay any attention tae Phil, son . . .
  he reads a loat.
<2ALAN:>2  I'm glad he's not coming back. I' think he's off his
  chump.
<2SPANKY:>2  Cannae be that daft.
<2ALAN:>2  What d'you mean?
<2SPANKY:>2  He's off . . . we're still here.
  <1Enter Jack.>1
<2JACK:>2  That's McCann's wages. Has he got a bonus or something?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye, his books.
<2JACK:>2  Heck not around? I've got his as well . . . right hefty
  wagepackets. Have they been working overtime? Oh,
  Alan . . . a couple of the chums and I are motoring
  over to Kippen on Sunday . . . there's a spare seat in
  the buggy if you'd like to tag along. Three bob for the
  petrol . . . bring your notebook and a packed lunch . . -
  okay? The Duke of Atholl's coming through from
  Drumnadrochat on a flyer. We can set up the picnic
  table on the embankment.
<2ALAN:>2  Mmm, that sounds terrific.
<2JACK:>2  Should be fun. S'not often the Pacific Class comes
  through that way. Would you see that Hector gets
  these? I think we can trust you . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  An' whit's that supposed tae mean, Plooky Appearance?
<2JACK:>2  Why don't you dry up?
<2SPANKY:>2  Like you, Jackie boy? No' bloody likely! Ye know ye
         can get stuff fur them biles...ye rub it aw awer
  yur phissog . . . it's cried emery paper.
  <2JACK:>2  You'll be glad when today's over, Alan. It's the end of
  the week. He and his crony go slightly ga-ga as the
  weekend looms. It's the thought of spending two whole
  days with their families in Feegie that sends them loopy.
  If they start on you . . . give them a biffing.
  <1Enter Phil.>1
  <2SPANKY:>2  Though ye wur away?
  <2PHIL:>2  Went alang fur ma wages. Lassie says she gie'd them tae
  Jack.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Chainge yur mind aboot stuffin' them up Wullie's . . .?
  <2PHIL:>2  Aye . . . awright? Where ur they?
  <2JACK:>2  Here . . . catch. <1Hands him wages.>1 Well, Alan, I'll leave
  you to it . . . <1Opens door.>1
  <2SPANKY:>2  No' want a biffin' afore ye go, Jack? <1tack bangs him>1
  <1with door and exits rapidly. Spanky dances about fran->1
  <1tically.>1
  <2PHIL:>2  Whit's up wi' you? Ye loast a screw ur somethin'?
  <2SPANKY:>2  Shuttup, ur Ah'll gie ye a severe biffin'. That's whit
  Jackie told Albert tae gie us if we gie'd him any lip.
  <2PHIL:>2  Who . . . him?
  <2ALAN:>2  Yes, me. Any obs?
  <2PHIL:>2  Any whits?
<2ALAN:>2  Obs.
<2PHIL:>2  Naw, but yull probably get some doon the canteen if
  ye hurry up. They don't shut tae five o'clock. <1Opens>1
  <1wage packet and takes out documents. Alan returns>1
  <1thwarted to his business.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Yur books? <1Goes to sink and starts washing dishes.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Aye. P.45, the lot. <1Pause.>1 "Non-contributary pension
scheme". Whit's that?
  <2ALAN>2 It means you have paid directly into . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Shuttit, you. Ah'm talkin' tae ma friend. Well?
<2SPANKY:>2  How should Ah know? Ah've goat aw these dishes tae
  wash. Can ye no' gie's a haun? Thur's hunners ae them.
<2PHIL:>2  Yur furgettin' somethin', Spanks. Ah don't work here any
  mair.
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye never did, Phil.
<2PHIL:>2  Less ae the sarcasm, Slab Boy.
<2SPANKY:>2  Least Ah still um wan.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, how come? Me an' Heck get the heave an' you're still
  washin' dishes safe an' secure. How dae ye manage it, eh?
<2SPANKY:>2  Gonnae get oot ma road? Ah've goat work tae dae.
<2PHIL:>2  Work?? Hus Noddy there been gettin' tae ye?
<2SPANKY:>2  Gonnae can it, Phil? Me an' the boy want tae get cleared
  up.
<2PHIL:>2  Aw . . . it's "me an' the boy" noo?
<2SPANKY:>2  Aye . . . whit of it?
<2PHIL:>2  Ah think Ah'm gonnae be sick.
<2SPANKY:>2  Well don't hing awer the shades  thur's um in them ar
  . . . <1Phil grabs him and pushes him across slab room. They>1
  <1confront each other for a moment then Phil turns on his>1
  <1heel and exits. Meets Curry in corridor.>1
<2CURRY:>2  You still here, McCann? You can go any time, you know.
<2PHIL:>2  Ah'm waitin' on a phone call.
<2CURRY:>2  Only urgent personal calls are allowed.
<2PHIL:>2  This is urgent. Ah'm waitin' fur word fae the hoaspital.
<2CURRY:>2  What's up? Is some one in the family ill?
<2PHIL:>2  It's ma Maw.
<2CURRY:>2  Oh, yes . . . of course. <1Embarrassed.>1 Were the lacerations
        severe?
<2PHIL:>2  Whit?
<2CURRY:>2  The lacerations. They must've been pretty bad. It can do
  a great deal of damage . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Whit can?
<2CURRY:>2  Plate glass. The stuff they have in shop windows.
<2PHIL:>2  Whit dae you know aboot shoap windaes? Who told you
  aboot it?
<2CURRY:>2  There was a bit in today's Wee Express. "Ferguslie Park
  Woman in Store Window Accident".
<2PHIL:>2  It wisnae an accident. She meant tae dae it.
<2CURRY:>2  Come now, McCann. Nobody in their right mind would go
  and throw themselves through a shop window. <1Silence.>1 All
  I said was ...
<2CURRY:>2  But the paper said your Mother was thrown through the
  window by a passing car . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Well, they goat it wrang, didn't they? Thur wis a caur there
  but it wisnae passin' . . . it wis parked. Whit she  done wis
  take a heider aff the roof straight through the Co windae
  . . . simple.
<2CURRY:>2  She must've been badly injured.
<2PHIL:>2  Nut a scratch. They say it wis the angle she jumped aff the
  roof ae the motor at.
<2CURRY:>2  It must've been a miracle!
<2PHIL:>2  Naw . . . a Ford Prefect.
<2CURRY:>2  Christ.
<2PHIL:>2  S'awright, she jist left a dent in the tap ae it. The priest's
  heavily insured . . .
CURRY  You're a callow bugger, McCann! If I was your Mother . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Yes, Mr Curry? If you wur ma Mother?
<2CURRY:>2  I'd . . . thump the living daylights out of you. I'm damned
  if I wouldn't!
<2PHIL:>2  Thank God ye urnae then. Right?
<2CURRY:>2  Soon as that call comes through you can sling your hook.
  Okay?? <1Stomps off->1
<2PHIL:>2  Certainly.
  <1Spanky emerges from slab room.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  D'ye think Ah should've jumped oot an' asked him furra
  desk, Phil?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, ye might've been lucky an' goat yur jotters.
<2SPANKY:>2  Some hope. Ah'm here fur the duration.
<2PHIL:>2  Well, if ye play yur cards right . . . don't gie the screws too
  much cheek . . . an' time aff fur good behaviour . . . who
  knows, ye could get it doon tae life.
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit aboot Heck, Phil?
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit aboot Heck?
  <2SPANKY:>2  He thought he wis here fur life.
  <2PHIL:>2  So?
  <2SPANKY:>2  D'ye no' think we should pit roon the hat fur him? Help
  tide him awer tull he gets his Broo money.
  <2PHIL:>2  Whit aboot tidin' me awer tull Ah get mines?
  <2SPANKY:>2  You've goat the Drawin' College tae luk forward tae . . .
  <2PHIL:>2  An' ma nearest an' dearest wanderin' the fields an' hedge-
  rows eatin' worms.
  <2SPANKY:>2  C'mon, whit d'ye say? . . . jist tae see the boy's Mammy
  awer the hump.
  <2PHIL:>2  <1Looking in pay packet.>1 Awer the hump? Thur's hardly
  enough here tae get Quasimodo a hauf a Bell's.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Jist a few bob.
  <2PHIL:>2  A few??
  <2SPANKY:>2  Ten'll dae. Look . . . Ah'll match it. Ah'll lea' them
  shoes tae next week. C'mon . . .
  <2PHIL:>2  <1Reluctantly.>1 There... an' don't say Ah'm no' generous. Stupit
  but not ungenerous. <1Hands over ten shilling note.>1
  <2SPANKY:>2  May the sausage of true contentment sizzle in yur sand-
  wich. Heck'll no' furget this, Phil.
<2PHIL:>2  Nae'er wull Ah. S'hauf ma wages.
<2SPANKY:>2  His faith in shooman nature wull be restored.
<2PHIL:>2  His Maw'll be pleased.
<2SPANKY:>2  Makes ye feel good, disn't it?
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, terrific. Let's huv a celebration. Gie's yur chainge an'
  Ah'll nip doon the canteen an' get us ten Woodies.
<2SPANKY:>2  Here's two bob . . . get a hunner.
<2PHIL:>2  Right. Open, Sesame. <1Spanky opens door.>1 Back 'n a tricycle.
  <1Exits.>1
  <1Spanky puts money into poke and addresses it.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Writing.>1 Hec. . . tor McKenzie. . . Slab Boy
  retired.
  <1Enter Lucille. She crosses to sink.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Replenishin' the auld "jooga di aqua", Ah see.
<2LUCILLE:>2  You tryin' tae be foul again?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah wis askin' if ye wur gettin' watter. S'Italian.
<2LUCILLE:>2  An' where'd ye get it? Affa chip poke?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ha . . . ha. <1Pause.>1 Er . . . Ah wis wonderin' . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Here we go again. Yes?
<2SPANKY:>2  Ah wis wonderin' if ye caught ma drift earlier oan?
<2LUCILLE:>2  An' what drift was that?
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit Ah wis askin' ye aboot.
LUCILLE :  Aw, aye?
<2SPANKY:>2  The Staffie.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Don't keep us in suspense.
<2SPANKY:>2  If ye fancied gaun wi' . . .?
<2LUCILLE:>2  "If ye fancied gaun wi' . . .?" Gaun wi' who? No' you?
<2SPANKY:>2  Eh? Aye, me . . . d'ye fancy . . .?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Where do you get them, sonny? The Puzzle Page of "Tiny
  Tots'? You?? Don't make me laugh. You . . . ??
<2SPANKY:>2  Whit's wrang wi' me? Yur no' gaun wi' anybody, ur ye? Ah
  never heard nothin'.
<2LUCILLE:>2  <1Patiently.>1 That's because your listeners are run up from the
  same material as your trousers . . . flannelette. <1Heads for>1
  <1door with waterjug.>1 All I'm saying is . . . <1Pauses at door.>1 . . .
  it's someone from the Slab Room.
  <1Exits.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Deeply perplexed.>1 Fae the Slab Room?? Who the . . .???
          <1Lucille takes off along the corridor. Bumps into>1
          <1Phil coming the other way. Water is splashed.>1
<2PHIL:>2  <1Wiping at Lucille>1 Ooops, sorry, Lucille...
<2LUCILLE:>2  Paws aff, you! Okay, okay . . . it's drip dry. Let us past.
<2SPANKY:>2  Fae the Slab Room?? Who the bloody hell. ?
<2PHIL:>2  Ah will . . . but first . . . about the Dance . . .
<2LUCILLE:>2  Aw, another "Tiny Tots" subscriber?
<2PHIL:>2  Ah wis wonderin' if ye'd like tae go wi' . . . er . . . wi' me?
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ah'm booked.
<2PHIL:>2  We could paint the town red or, at-least, a shade a salmon
  pink. Ah've goat a wad of notes here that could choke a
  hoarse . . . fly . . . yur whit?????
<2LUCILLE:>2  Ah'm booked Now, move the torso. Shift.
<2PHIL:>2  Who ye gaun wi'? Come on . . . Who is it??
<2LUCILLE:>2  Don't fall off your perch, Joey, but it's someone . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aye??
<2LUCILLE:>2  . . . from the Slab. Right? Now, excuse me.
  <1Strolls off.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Fae the Slab???
<2SPANKY:>2  The Slab Room?
<2PHIL:>2  <1Racing round into Slab Room.>1 Spanky!!
<2SPANKY:>2  Phil!!
<2PHIL:>2  Ya devious cow!
<2SPANKY:>2  Ya sneaky pigwhore!
<2PHIL:>2  Who you cawin' a pigwhore? Ya lousebag!
<2SPANKY:>2  A lousebag, eh?? Ya underhand bloody . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Get them up! <1Circle each other with fists up...>1
<2SPANKY:>2  You've been askin' fur this.
<2PHIL:>2  Snake-in-the-grass!
<2SPANKY:>2  Quisling!
  <1Enter Hector unnoticed.>1
<2PHIL:>2  Whit??
<2SPANKY:>2  Quisling. S'worse than a snake-in-the-grass.
<1They become locked in combat.>1
<1Hector dives in between them.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Heh . . . heh . . . take it easy!! Whit's gaun oan here?? Whit
  yese playin' at??
<2PHIL and SPANKY:>2  <1Together>1 That sneaky bastart's gaun tae the Staffie wi'...
<1They look at one another.>1 . . . Lucille? <1They look at Hector. Back at>1
  <1each other. Back to Hector.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Ye don't think . . . ???
<2PHIL:>2  She's never gaun wi' . . . ???
<2SPANKY:>2  The togs's worked!
<2PHIL:>2  Whit did Ah tell ye??
  <1They hoist the bemused Hector onto their shoul->1
  <1ders and carry him round the room.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Lucille hus rose tae the bait. . .
<2PHIL:>2  Took the fly . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah've been alang tae see Wullie. <1He goes unheard.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  She went the bunnle . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Flipped hur lid . . .
  <1They drop Hector.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Hoist by wur ain . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Restyled drainpipes.
<2SPANKY:>2  Congratulations, Heck son. Pit it there . . . <1Gives him hand>1
  <1up. Hector totally bemused.>1
  Well done, the wee guy. Ye done it, kid. Congrats. <1Shakes>1
  <1Hector's hand.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Modestly.>1 Och, it wis nothin' . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Nothin', he says.
<2HECTOR:>2  Ah've really goat you an' Phil tae thank. Wi'oot youse two
  Ah could never've pulled it off. <1Spanky and Phil shake their>1
  <1heads modestly.>1 Naw, really. Nae kiddin'.
<2PHIL:>2  Don't mention it, Hector. It wis a pleasure.
<2SPANKY:>2  Always remember, kiddo, that's whit me an' Phil ur here
  fur. Tae help a buddy pull oot the big wan.
<2PHIL:>2  Ur in your case . . . the wee wan. <1They all laugh.>1 The presen-
  tation, Spanks . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  Aw, aye... right. <1Pulls out envelope.>1 Er... this little...
  er. . . this small . . . er . . . this . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Quid.
<2SPANKY:>2  Shuttup. This... er... is a.. token of wur... er... of
  wur. Aw, here, Phil . . . you want tae dae it?
<2PHIL:>2  <1Taking envelope. Clears throat.>1 Er . . . I would like to take
  a moment here for to . . . er . . . Whit Spanky wis tryin' tae
  say, Heck, wis this . . . er . . . this little . . . er . . . him an' me
  pit thegither an' . . . er . . . me an' him er . . . ach, here . . .
  <1Hands over money.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Hear, hear. <1They clap.>1
<2HECTOR:>2  Thanks, boys . . . Ah'm really quite . . . <1Tears.>1 . . . God,
  Ah'm really touched.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye, we know that, Heck.
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Giving him dunt.>1 He means emotionally.
<2HECK:>2  Ah don't know how yese knew Ah wis leavin' the Slab
  Room. Ah've only jist been told by Wullie Curry but Ah
  sure do appreciate this . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Quid.
<2HECTOR:>2  . . . gift. It'll come in handy.
<2SPANKY:>2  Help tide yese awer . . . you an' yur Maw.
<2PHIL:>2  Tull ye get another joab.
<2HECTOR:>2  Eh?
<2SPANKY:>2  He says, tull ye get another joab.
<2HECK:>2  Eh?
<2TOGETHER:>2  Till ye get another joab!
<2HECTOR:>2  <1Puzzled.>1 Ah've arready goat another joab.
  <2PHIL:>2  God, that wis quick. S'thur a mobile Broo ootside?
  <2HECTOR:>2  That's whit Ah wis alang seein' Wullie aboot. Ma new joab
  Ah start oan a desk oan Monday. Ah'm a Designer noo.
  <2PHIL and SPANKY>2 <1(Together)>1 Whit????????
  <2HECTOR:>2  Twelve quid a week . . . backdated a fortnight. <1Sees the>1
  <1bewildered expressions.>1 Ah thought that's whit ye wur
  congratulatin' us fur?
  <2SPANKY:>2  We wur congratulatin' ye fur gettin' a date wi' Lucille.
  <2PHIL:>2  Tae take hur tae the Staffie.
  <2HECTOR:>2  Ach, Ah goat that excited aboot ma desk Ah furgoat aw
  aboot hur. Ah'll be gaun wi' Wullie...he husnea goat a
  ticket.
  <2PHIL:>2  But, Lucille said she wis gaun wi' somebody fae the Slab
Room an' we thought...
  <1Enter Alan.>1
  <2ALAN:>2  Hi. Hey, guess what? <1Spanky and Phil look at one another.>1
  Since two of you chaps are vacating the Slab Mr Curry
thought I should step in and fill the breach. How about
that? Seemed to think I might just fit the bill quite snugly.
Where are the gum crystals kept again? <1Hunts under sink.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Looking at Phil.>1 Ye don't think . . .?
<2PHIL:>2  She couldnae've meant . . . ?
  <1Lucille appears at door.>1
<2LUCILLE:>2  Sure you can get your Dad's $(M.G.)$ the night, Handsome?
<2ALAN:>2  Burton's corner . . . quarter to. Don't be late now. Sink a
  couple of Camparis befor we get there.
<2LUCILLE:>2  Great. <1To Phil>1 An' if I was you I wouldn't go home via
  Storie Street. That's where Bernadette's boyfriend's got
  his jew-jipsy parlour. He eats smouts like you for his tea.
  <1To Alan.>1 Don't forget to change out of the blazer. You
  don't want people to think you're fae a bowlin' club. Okay?
  <1Blows him kiss.>1 Byeeeee.
  <1Exits.>1
<2ALAN:>2  Oh, by the way, a phone call came through to Mr Curry's
  office. I said I'd pass the message on . . .
<2PHIL:>2  Aye? Is ma Maw safe?
<2ALAN:>2  You didn't get in.
<2PHIL:>2  Whit?
<2ALAN:>2  Standard was especially high this year apparently. Some
  really top rate folios. Hard cheese. Did you say the gum
  crystals were in here?
<2PHIL:>2  Christ . . .
<2HECTOR:>2  Well, you guys, Ah better shoot off. Wullie's givin' us a
  lift doon the road. <1Starts putting coat on.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  Heh, haud yur hoarses, Heck. Ye cannae go jist like that.
  Whit did ye mean by sayin' "Thanks, boys, wi'oot youse
  two Ah could never've pulled it off"? If Lucille's gaun tae
  the Dance wi' Gorgeous Gussie there whit've ye goat me
  an' Phil tae thank fur?
<2HECTOR:>2  Oh, quite a lot really. Wullie says compared tae youse two
  slackers Ah stuck oot a mile in here. That's how Ah goat
  ma desk. Thanks again.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Whit aboot the money we gie'd ye?
  <2HECTOR:>2  Ah'll jist haud oantae that, if yese don't mind. Help towards
  the cost ae a new perra troosers an' a shurt. Ah seen the
  mess ye made ae them in the big mirror doon the Show-
  room. Oh, an' Ah can pit somethin' tae a nylon overall
  like Jimmy Roabertson's goat.
  <1Exits.>1
  <2SPANKY:>2  Cocky wee . . . !
  <1Hector Re-enters.>1
  <2HECTOR:>2  An' Ah'll be expectin' some smart grindin' fae this
  department in the future. Nae palmin' me aff wi'
  substandard shades, Farrell. Oh, an' sorry tae hear ye
  loast yur joab, Phil. No' tae worry. Yull no' find much
  difference noo yur officially oota work. Okay? Well, good-
  night, all. See yese at the Staffie.
  <1Exits.>1
  <1Silence.>1
  <2ALAN:>2  <1Doffing dust coat.>1 Mustn't work too late. Not on the first
  day, anyway. Wouldn't like to set a precedent.
  <2SPANKY:>2  Eh?
  <2ALAN:>2  Plenty of other evenings. Heavy night ahead. Oh, tough
  luck about the Art College. Don't take it to heart, eh?
  There's always next year. <1Baleful stare from Phil>1 . . . Or
  the year after. Or you could even try one of the commer-
  cial studios. That might be fun. My Dad knows quite a
few chaps in that line . . . I could get him to put in a word
for you. <1Phil is straining at the leash.>1 Perhaps not. Anyway,
see you at the Hop tonight. Buy you a small beer. Oh,
and I'll be seeing you on Monday, Sparky, <1Sic.>1 so take it
easy over the weekend. Make an early start. Ther's quite a
backlog of grinding to catch up on. That cabinet out there's
an embarrassment. I was just saying to Mr Curry . . . <1Phil>1
<1picks up half eaten banana and hits him with it. Alan turns>1
<1on his heel and exits.>1
  <1Pause.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  That young pup's asking for a severe biffing, Cherry.
<2PHIL:>2  Bugger me if you ain't right, Nugent. Still, I've got a better
  wheeze up my sleeve. <1Produces Parker Pen.>1 Daaarrraa. Let's
  play a merry jape on the shite. <1Plunges pen into gum pot.>1
SPANKY :  <1Clapping.>1 Bravo, sir. Well done . . .
  <1Enter Jack with note.>1
<2JACK:>2  I think this is for you, McCann. It was left at the Gate-
  house. Ambulanceman said to give it to you straight away.
  Lucille should be delivering these damned messages. I'm
  up to my ears in podges out there. Is Alan away? He never
  said whether he was going on the Train Spotters' Picnic or
  not . . . oh, well . . . that's his hard lines. It's not every day
  "The Duke of Atholl" comes through on a flyer . . .
  <1Exits.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1As Phil unfolds note.>1 Yur Maw?
<2PHIL:>2 <1Moving out of Spanky's line of vision.>1 "Got your Mum in
  the back of the wagon. <1Looks up>1 . . . <1Continues as if reading->1
  Managed to get her out of the river without too much diff-
  iculty. The grappling hooks did not break the skin. <1Eyes>1
  <1down.>1 Regards to your Dad and tell him Sammy Cairns
  will see him at Carntyne tonight as usual. All the best.
  S Cairns. Driver. <1Starts folding note.>1 St Andrew's Ambu-
  lance Service." <1Quietly.>1 Thank Christ.
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Breezily.>1 Well, at least ye know she's back in captivity. Ah
  mean, in safe hauns, Phil. Ye can go tae the Staffie an'
  enjoy yursel' noo.
<2PHIL:>2  Aye.
<2SPANKY:>2  Wunner whit she wis daein' in the river?
<2PHIL:>2  Watter therapy.
  <1Enter Curry dressed for going home.>1
<2CURRY:>2  Hector not here? 'Spect he's waiting at the car. Here, is
  there enough gum for Jack? <1Picks up gum pot.>1 I'll take
  this out to him. Wait a mo . . . there's a foreign body in
  here . . .
<2PHIL:>2  S'it goat a turban oan?
<2CURRY:>2  <1Pouring contents into bin.>1 You'll just have to make up some
  fresh stuff, Farrell . . . pronto. Mr Barton's waiting on that
  job Jack's doing so . . .
<2SPANKY:>2  But Ah'm gettin' ready tae go hame, Mr Cardew. Thur's the
  Staffie the night an' Ah want tae . . .
<2CURRY:>2  Never you mind about that, laddie. The Staff Dance can
  wait. Mr Barton can't. Get the overall back on and get
  weaving. And you can stop smirking, McCann, and give him a
  hand. The muslin's down there. Come on, look alert. <1Phil>1
  <1does as he's ordered.>1 I often wonder how a pair of greasy
  quiffed nancy boys like you would've fared in the Tropic's.
  Slant-eyed snippers up every second palm tree...drawing
  a bead on us Jocks as we cut and hacked a path through
  the dense foliage. How would you've got on, eh? Is this
  what Wingate gave his last gasp for? So that louts like you
  could get yourselves a cushy little number? Eh? Get into
  those crystals.
  <2PHIL:>2  <1Stopping dead.>1 Heh . . . wait a minute. Whit um Ah daein'
  here? Snipers up yur palm trees?? Wingate?? Cushy little
  . . . ?? You're furgettin' somethin', Wullie Curry. Ah don't
  work here noo. Remember?? An' while wur at it ye can
  drap aw that gibbon-shit aboot the jungle. Jimmy Roabertson
  blew the gaff. The only stuff you've ever hacked yur way
  through's a Battalion's payslips. You . . . fightin' the Japs!!??
  Yuv never been further east than the china stall at the Barras.
  <2CURRY:>2  <1Furious.>1 You . . . you . . .
<2PHIL:>2  An' jist whit did ye gie's the boot fur anyhow? Wisnae jist fur
  the cheek Ah gave ye. Wuv aw done that. An' it couldnae've
  been fur loafin' aboot either. That's de rigeur in here. Naw,
  whit really goat you by the curlies wis the thought a me . . .
  me . . . gaun tae the Art School. Wisn't it? That Ah jist might
  huv the savvy tae realise thur wis mair tae life than gie'in
  masel' housemaid's bloody knee oan they slabs!
<2CURRY:>2  <1Blazing.>1 Shuttit!! Shuttit!! ya miserable young upstart! How
  dare you shoot your mouth off like that. How dare you.
  Since the day the hour you walked through that door you've
  tried to caw the legs from under me. Well, now it's your
  turn. Yes, I wish it had been me that gave you your cards
  but Mr Barton beat me to the punch. 'Get that lazy young
  bastard out of here, Curry, or I'll have those gaffer's stripes
  off you quicker than you can say "Supersaxe Threequarter
  Square!" Yes, McCann . . . that's knocked you back. Muggins
  here even asked for a second chance for you. Me! For you!
  And as for the bloody Art School . . . that's your best joke
  to date. Drawing the dole and scoffing cheap wine with the
  Old Masters from the doss house is about your stretch.
  Right? <1Goes to door. Pause.>1 And for your information
  Jimmy Robertson's got hammer toes. He couldn't even Dig
  For Victory!
  <1Exits.>1
<2SPANKY:>2  <1Hand in gumpot>1 Exits Plooky Jack an' his
  plooky bloody rush joabs! Jist wait till Ah get
  ma desk. . . What a bally day, Cherry!
<2PHIL:>2  Oh, buck up, Nugent. Bless my boater, the entire Remove are
  waiting out there for me . . . well parried, Wharton . . .
  Yes, what a bally day indeed, old bean. Started off
  pleasantly enough . . . one's Mater off for a few
  days in the country but fuck me if it ain't gone
  downhill since then . . . fuck me, if it ain't. Oh. . .
  hit, sir! Straight up Bunter's bum! <1Pauses at door.>1
  D'you think Giotto was ever a Slab Boy, Spanks?
  <1Curtain.>1
  <1The end.>1