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Slog Villum I mean; how are you? Come along. Vell, I am glad to see you, for, d'you know, arter you failed me that day at the Black Bull, I have bin givin' you a pretty bad character, an' callin' you no end o' bad names." "Is that what your `angel' teaches you, Robin?" "Vell, not exactly, but you'll hear wot she teaches for yourself to-night, I 'ope. Come, I'm right glad to see you, Villum.
"It would puzzle me, rather, to tell that," returned Robin, "'specially talkin' down to the level of my own toes on the top of a 'bus; but I'll tell you what, Villum, if you'll come to Number 6 Grovelly Street, Shadwell Square, just back of Hoboy Crescent, w'ere my master lives, on Sunday next at seven in the evenin', you'll hear an' see somethin' as'll open your eyes."
Then he began to mutter between his teeth his private opinion as to faithless persons in general, and faithless Villum, alias the Slogger, in particular, whose character he painted to himself in extremely sombre colours. After that, a heavy thunder-shower having fallen and drenched him, he walked recklessly and violently through every puddle in his path.
"Right you are," replied the other, "but you needn't try on the dodge yourself, for it would never pay with a big ugly grampus like you, Villum." Having thus run into a pleasant little chat, the two waifs proceeded to compare notes, in the course of which comparison the Slogger gave an outline of his recent history.
"A shake, of course, old feller," replied the other, as Robin grasped the proffered hand; "but I say," he added in a lower key, "there's no Slogger now in this 'ere world; he's dead an' buried long ago. My name is Villum Bowls no connection wotever with Slogger. Oh no! we never mention 'im; but, I say, w'en did you go into the genteel line? eh, Slidder?" "Robin Robin is my name now, Villum Bowls.
D'you 'appen to know a young man of the name of Sl I mean Villum Bowls?" "Yes I do, Mr Imp'rence," answered the girl. "You couldn't introdooce me to him, could you, Miss Sunshine?" "No, I couldn't, because he isn't here, and won't likely be back for two hours." This reply took all the humour out of Robin's tone and manner.
"Vell, Slog Villum, I mean; why don't you say wot you mean, eh?" "'Ow d'you like grey tights an' buttons?" said the Slogger, with a bland smile. "So so," replied Robin, with a careless air; "the grey is sober enough quite suitable to my character an' I confess I'm fond o' the buttons."
"There's enough of 'em to form a goodish overcoat a'most," said the Slogger with a critical grin, "but I should 'ave thought 'em not sufficiently waterproof in wet weather." "Vell, they ain't much use for that, Slog eh, Villum; but you should see the dazzling display they makes in sunshine. W'y, you can see me half a mile off w'en I chance to be walking in Regent Street or drivin' in the Park.
"Ah! a meetin'-'ouse'?" said the Slogger, with a slight smile of contempt. "Music-'alls and publics is meetin'-'ouses, ain't they?" "Ah, but they ain't prayer-meetin' 'ouses," rejoined the Slogger. "Not so sure o' that Villum. There's a deal o' prayer in such places sometimes, an' it's well for the wisitors that their prayers ain't always answered.
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