"Who a-you got long o' you, Teddy?" inquired a gruff man who was
crouched on a stool by the side of the empty grate.
"It's a man, father, wot give me the beer."
"Come in, mate, if you've a mind."
I accepted the invitation, prompted by my usual curiosity, and found
myself in a stinking little box, which was lit by a guttering dip. Some
clothes hung on a line, and these offended more senses than one. No
breath of pure air seemed to have blown through that gruesome dwelling
for many a day, but I am seasoned, and nothing puts me out much.
"Ain't got another seat, mate. Take the bed."
The bed was not suggestive of sleep, and I was a trifle uneasy as I sat
down; yet I knew it would never do to hesitate, so down I sat.
"Wot's this about givin' Teddy the beer?"
I made answer.
"Ain't got no more 'n two bloomin' dee, but you can have 'em, and thank
ye for your trouble."
"I have money enough, thanks. A pint isn't much."
"Oh, now I knows you. A bloke was a-tellin' me they had a broken-down
toff round at The Chequers, and some on 'em says you ain't no more
broken down 'n the Lord Mayor.
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