"So 'ave I," was the answer made by Bill; then getting pugilistic he
thundered out: "I'll give yer one on the moosh."
"Will yer?" said Section 4.
"Straight I will. Give you one across your ugly phiz! It looks as if
it had been out all night and some one dancing on it."
Bill took off his cap and flung it on the ground as if it were the
gauntlet of a knight of old. His hair, short and wiry, stood up on
end. Section 4 looked at it.
"Your hair looks like furze in a fit," said Section 4.
"You're lookin' for one on the jor," said Bill closing and opening his
fist. "And I'll give yer one."
"Will yer? Two can play at that gyme!"
Goliath massive and monumental came along at that moment. He looked at
Bill.
"Looking for trouble, mate?" he asked.
"Section 4's shouting the odds, as usual," Bill replied.
"Come along to the Canal and have a bath; it will cool your (p. 223)
temper."
"Will it?" said Bill as he came along with us somewhat reluctantly
towards the Canal banks.
"What does shouting the odds mean?" I asked him.
"Chewin' the rag," he answered.
"And that means----"
"Kicking up a row and lettin' every one round you know," said Bill.
"That's what shoutin' the blurry odds means."
"What's the difference between shouting the odds and shouting the
blurry odds?" I asked.
"It's like this, Pat," Bill began to explain, a blush rising on his
cheeks. Bill often blushed. "Shoutin' the odds isn't strong enough,
but shoutin' the blurry odds has ginger in it.
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