Then came my
mentor, and softly remarked, "Don't go and queer his pitch. Here's a lot
on 'em a-comin', and they'll be all over you if you say a word. Wait
till he gits a bit and he'll pay." This was also what I expected. We
happened to be in an enclosed ground, so I managed to keep my eye on the
capitalist, and the unhappy being vainly strove to dodge away. Catching
him in the act of sneaking through the turnstile, I touched him gently,
and then beckoned to a policeman. No welsher can hope for admission to
one of the enclosed courses after he is once fairly caught, and my
victim whimpered, "Come in yere and 'ave a drink." Then he said, "Look
yere, I ain't got a bloomin' 'alf dollar but what I 'ad off o' you. I
walked down this mornin', and hadn't only the gate-money, and your pal
laid me on to you. Say nothin' this time. I ain't had no grub to-day.
Give us a chance. 'Twas your pal as put me on, mind. Brandy cold, if you
don't mind."
The ineffable impudence of the capitalist's request made it hard for me
to keep from laughing; I let him go, and I fear that he and the Ramper
made further attempts on the idiots who throng the Silver Ring.
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