"Pooch, a dizzen o' them, my lort!" replied M'Kay in the same under-tone.

" "Pooch, their guns!

Ower there they riped ma pooches, an' took a'thing I had.

If I was trustin' a girl, I'll bet ye a bob she wud turn oot to be yin o' the sort that pinches a chap's wages afore they're warmed in his pooch, an' objec's to him smokin' a fag, an' tak's the huff if he calls her fig-face.'

Where is your old one?" "Blawn off ma back, sirr!" "Where are your puttees?" "Blawn off ma feet, sirr!" "Where is your iron ration?" "Blawn oot o' ma pooch, sirr!" "Where is your head?" "BlawnI beg your pardon, sirr!"followed by generous reissues all round.

"What I mean is, there's a bullet for each one of us somewhere over there"he jerked his head eastward"in a Gairman pooch.

Some place over there there is a bullet in a Gairman's pooch, and one day that bullet will find its way intil your insides as sure as if your name was written on it!