a sailor's song, but we were all pleased
with it, and it led the way nicely to the girl's ditty, which stated
that somebody was going sailing, sailing, over the bounding main
(sailors always mention the sea as the bounding main), and by easy steps
we got to the fat woman's "Banks of Hallan Worrrtter." We were a jovial
company: four of us were wondering how they could rob the fifth, and
that fifth resolved, quite early in this seance, to use his
knuckle-duster promptly, and to prevent either of the male warblers from
getting behind him, at any risk. About three o'clock the junior lady
placed herself on my knee, and her husband approvingly described her as
a bloomin' baggage. I did not like the special perfume which my friend
employed for her hair, and I also disliked the evidences which went to
prove that the bath was not her favourite luxury; but we did not fall
out, and, after a spell of sprightly song, we all indulged in a dance of
the most spirited description. Drink was plentiful, and, as I saw I was
being plied very freely, I pretended to be eager for more. This modified
the strategy of my friends, for they were reasonably anxious to secure a
skinful, and they feared lest my powers might prove to be abnormal. Four
watching like wild beasts! One waiting, and calculating chances! The
sullen, grey-eyed old man had taken on the aspect of a ferret; the fat
woman was like that awful wretch who meets the pale girl in Hogarth's
"Marriage a la Mode;" the bastard gipsy smiled in "leary" fashion, as if
he were coming up for the second round of a fight, and knew that he had
it all own way. 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