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The Gunner was holding forth on Tobacco Gifts. 'It's like this, see, he said. 'An' I knows it's so 'cos I read it myself in the paper. First you cuts a coo-pon out o' the paper wi' your name an' address on it. . . . 'But, 'ere, 'old on, put in the Wheel Driver. ''Ow does my name get on it? 'You write it there, fat'ead. Didjer think it growed there?
"And there's one more thing, young feller me lad," added Keggs earnestly, "don't you ever grow up to be such a fat'ead as our friend Percy. Don't forget I warned you." Life is like some crazy machine that is always going either too slow or too fast. From the cradle to the grave we alternate between the Sargasso Sea and the rapids forever either becalmed or storm-tossed.
But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un back agin." "Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically. "'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas replied, and continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin' un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet determined.
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