LAWRENCE
Allow me to ignite your cigarette.
He strikes one of the SERGEANT’s matches and lights the CORPORAL’S cigarette. Then, he extinguishes the match by very slowly closing his finger and thumb upon the flame, his face very attentive the while. It is a trick the other two have evidently seen before but which evidently still fascinates.
SERGEANT
You’ll do that once too often. It’s only flesh and blood.
LAWRENCE returns to his work, murmuring:
LAWRENCE
Why, Michael George Hartly, you’re a philosopher.
The door opens and an M.P. SERGEANT enters.
M. P.
Mr. Lawrence?
LAWRENCE
Yes?
M. P.
Flimsy, sir.
He goes towards LAWRENCE.
The CORPORAL sits down on his own stool, as the M.P. enters the picture, hands the flimsy to LAWRENCE, and exits. LAWRENCE unfolds the flimsy and his expression changes. The SERGEANT takes no notice, assuming it to be a routine order of some kind. LAWRENCE puts down the flimsy and takes his hat from a nail driven into the wall within reach, and gets down from his stool, his face very still, his eyes excited. The CORPORAL is preoccupied with a burning match which he proceeds to extinguish between his fingers.
CORPORAL
Ow! It damn well hurts!
LAWRENCE
Certainly it hurts.
CORPORAL
Well what’s the trick then?
LAWRENCE
The trick, William Potter, is not minding if it hurts.
