I pumped up jokes, and my snub-nosed charmer pretended
to laugh. Ah! what a laugh.
This was the position when Blackey declared that he must go. "Got to
shunt, old man? You squat still, now, and git through that there lotion.
I got to go to market, and we ain't no bloomin' moke. I'm on on my
stand ten o'clock--no later--and that wants doin'. The missus'll fetch
me some corrfee, and, hear you, put a nip o' that booze in. It warms yer
liver up. By-by. Mind you stay, now, and no faint hearts. Mother, up
with your heavy wet, and try suthin' short. I'm off!"
With an ostentatious farewell, the excellent Blackey stumped off, and
the four remaining revellers became staid.
"'Ard times," said the ferret-faced man; "but we've 'ad _one_ good night
out on it anyways."
"How do you make your living, may I ask, if that's a fair question,
mate?" This question was addressed by _me_ to the sly man, and he was
embarrassed.
"Livin'! 'Taint no livin'. It's lingerin'. Leastways it would be if it
wasn't for my gell, Tilley, there.
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