Bundy and Philpot took him home, separating from Crass and Easton at the corner of the street where both the latter lived. Crass felt very full and satisfied with himself. He had had six and a half pints of beer, and had listened to two selections on the polyphone at a total cost of one penny.
Wooden forms fixed across the partitions and against the walls under the windows provided seating accommodation for the customers. A large automatic musical instrument a 'penny in the slot' polyphone resembling a grandfather's clock in shape stood against one of the partitions and close up to the counter, so that those behind the bar could reach to wind it up.
'All right, replied the voice, and footsteps were heard ascending some stairs. 'You'll see some fun in a minute, gleefully remarked Crass to Easton. The polyphone continued to play 'The Boys of the Bulldog Breed. Philpot crossed over to the Semi-drunk. 'Look 'ere, old man, he whispered, 'take my tip and go 'ome quietly. You'll only git the worse of it, you know.
Hanging on the partition near the polyphone was a board about fifteen inches square, over the surface of which were distributed a number of small hooks, numbered. At the bottom of the board was a net made of fine twine, extended by means of a semi-circular piece of wire. In this net several india-rubber rings about three inches in diameter were lying.
Bundy was badly beaten, and then Easton suggested that it was time to think of going home. This proposal slightly modified met with general approval, the modification being suggested by Philpot, who insisted on standing one final round of drinks before they went. While they were pouring this down their throats, Crass took a penny from his waistcoat pocket and put it in the slot of the polyphone.
'Well, 'ere's the skin orf yer nose, said Crass, nodding to Philpot, and taking a long pull at the pint glass which the latter had handed to him. Similar appropriate and friendly sentiments were expressed by the others and suitably acknowledged by Philpot, the founder of the feast. The Old Dear now put a penny in the slot of the polyphone, and winding it up started it playing.
The air was foul with the smell of beer, spirits and tobacco smoke, and the uproar was deafening, for nearly everyone was talking at the same time, their voices clashing discordantly with the strains of the Polyphone, which was playing 'The Garden of Your Heart'. In one corner a group of men convulsed with laughter at the details of a dirty story related by one of their number.