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Updated: May 20, 2025
"Yes," laughed Wilson, "anything, to heaving coal." "'Fraid of your neck?" asked Stubbs. "Try me." "Gut any family?" "No." "Ever shipped afore?" "No." Stubbs settled further back in his chair and studied the ceiling. "Wotcher want to git there for?" "I have a friend who's somewhere down there," he said frankly. "Man?" "No." "Women," mused Stubbs, "is strange. Can't never lay your hand on a woman.
As she went up the stairs one shopman winked at the other and came across with a pair of hobnailed boots in his hand. "This'll never do," he whispered, "the boss missin' his lesson. He'll get behind in his practice." "Wotcher givin' us?" replied the other. "The boss don't take lessons; it's the kid." "Of course he don't," said the other with a leer.
At the explosion the passer-by spun about and his whistle expired in a snort of angered surprise as the bared head of Mr. Leary appeared above the topmost board of the pile, and Mr. Leary's abashed face looked into his. "Say," he demanded, "wotcher meanin', hidin' there and snortin' in a guy's ear?" His manner was truculent; indeed, verged almost upon the menacing.
The boy, for he was scarcely more than that in years, shuffled his feet uneasily, and his eyes wandered from Brennan to Westcott. The look of sullen defiance had vanished. "Whar is Lacy?" he asked. "Back in town, but he will be at Badger Springs about dark. We've got him corralled this time. Yer better climb inter the band-wagon, son; it's the last call." "Wotcher wanter ask?"
So I tears into it an' gets this 'ere room done about a quarter past four, an' I'd just got me things put away for the night w'en 'oo should come fallin' up the bloody stairs but ole Buncer, drunk as a howl! An' no sooner 'e gits inter the room than 'e starts yappin' an' rampin'." "Is this 'ere hall you've done?" 'e shouts out. "Wotcher bin up to hall day?"
"Police!" he said sharply. "Who's your friend?" George turned, red and truculent, with clenched fists. "Mind your own bloody business!" he roared. "Mind yours, my lad!" retorted Coombes warningly. "You're no Thames waterman. Who's your friend?" "Wotcher mean?" shouted George. "You're up the pole or canned you are!"
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