OLIVE: Never mind. A cup of tea. [To ROO] You right, are you? Still some bacon out there—

ROO: [shaking his head, as he sets out the shoe-cleaning equipment] I’m sweet.

OLIVE: Sweet’s not the word. [A loving pat in passing] Irresistible. [Heading back for the kitchen] How’s your Auntie Maureen, love?

BUBBA: [following OLIVE off] Head is better. Feet are still up. Said I was to thank you for the stout.

EMMA: Terrible, the things she says in front of that kid.

ROO: Bubba doesn’t mind.

EMMA: ’S what I mean—like the four of you was married couples. Bet if them nuns at her school knew she was shoutin’ up the stairs to tell a fornicator ’ardly out of bed he ought to wear his woolly long johns—

She collects the army socks, dustpan and brush, to rise and register ROO, about to clean his boots.

Ah no, fair go. Polishin’ them great clodhoppers in here—take ’em out on the verandah.

ROO shrugs and collects the cleaning gear.

Nugget over my good carpet—as if I haven’t got enough to do.

ROO moves out onto the back verandah, leaving the French windows open behind him.

And close them windows. House is cold enough without you lettin’ in a lot of frosty air.

ROO returns, empty-handed, to the French windows.

ROO: Pity you didn’t get around to joinin’ the army. You’d have made a fine up-jumped sergeant major.

EMMA: More promotion than you ever got. Five years’ service, and you end up a private.

ROO: [a wide smile] Watch it, Alfie.

He closes the French windows. EMMA makes her way to the hall, as BARNEY comes shivering downstairs. He is wearing his army uniform, with the overcoat hanging from his shoulders, but is barefooted and carries his boots in his hand.

BARNEY: Ah my gawd, it’s cold, this place. It’s freezin’. Draught under that front door is straight from the South Pole.

He sights the army socks on top of EMMA’s ash pan.

And where are you goin’ with me socks?

EMMA: Don’t know whether I should bury them right away, or drown ’em first in a bath of phenyl.

BARNEY: [indignantly] That’s a libel. Fresh on last night.

He rescues his socks from the top of the ash pan.

After Nancy did me treatment. Only wore ’em for a couple of hours.

EMMA goes, shaking her head in disbelief. BARNEY calls after her:

Any smell is all that stuff the MO’s given me for me tinea, and me jungle rot!

NANCY comes downstairs, wearing a dressing-gown and the horn-rimmed bifocals that are now a necessity.

NANCY: Give it to ’em, Tiger. Don’t forget your beri-beri, and the rash around your ankles.