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So we goes hover, an' 'e calls for a w'iskey an' soda for isself an' arsts me wot I'd 'ave, so I 'ad the same. An' w'ile we was gettin' it down us, 'e ses to me, "Ah, Garge," 'e ses. "You losed your temper with me yesterday," 'e ses. 'There you are, you see! said the tall man. 'There's an example for yer!
"See that bloke just now?" said Mr. Beale. "Yuss," said Dickie. "Well, you never see 'im. If any one arsts you if you ever see 'im, you never set eyes on 'im in all your born not to remember 'im. Might a passed 'im in a crowd see?" "Yuss," said Dickie again. "'Tasn't been 'arf a panto neither! Us two on the road," Mr. Beale went on. "Not 'arf!"
It was in the afternoon that, half-way up a hill, they saw coming over the crest a lady and a little girl. "Hout yer gets," said Mr. Beale quickly; "walk as 'oppy as you can, and if they arsts you you say you ain't 'ad nothing to eat since las' night and then it was a bit o' dry bread." "Right you are," said Dickie, enjoying the game. "An' mind you call me father."
"If it wasn't for fear of Dick finding 'im," said Sam viciously, "or the boy, I'd just give it up, cookie." "If anybody finds 'im it'll be the skipper hisself," said the cook, lowering his voice as the person alluded to passed them on his way ashore. "He goes to the police station with the portrait and arsts them there. What chance 'ave we got after that?"
'Not a bloody word! replied the little man, ''E picked 'isself up, and called a keb wot was passin' an' got inter it an' went 'ome; an' I never seen no more of 'im until about 'arf-past eleven the next day, w'en I was second-coatin' the room, an' 'e comes up with a noo suit o' clothes on, an' arsts me if I'd like to come hover to the pub an' 'ave a drink?
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