tinued Bindle. "Went off like a
rattle it did."

"Don't know 'is name myself," said Scratcher after a gigantic swallow.
"'E's new."

"Wouldn't 'elp you much, ole son, if you did know it," said Bindle
with conviction. "Seemed to me like a patent gargle. Never 'eard
anythink like it."

"'Ere!" said Bindle to Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino, who was darting
past on his way to another table. The Italian paused, hatred
smouldering in his dark eyes.

"I can't remember that name o' yours, ole sport," said Bindle. "Sorry,
but I ain't a gramophone. Wot 'ave I got to call you?"

"Call me sair," replied Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino with dignity.

"Call you wot?" cried Bindle indignantly. "Call you wot?"

"Call me sair," repeated the Italian.

"Me call a foreigner 'sir!'" cried Bindle. "Now ain't you the funniest
ole 'Uggins."

Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino cast upon Bindle a look of consuming
hatred.

"Look 'ere," remarked Bindle cheerfully, "if you goes about a-lookin'
like that, you'll spoil the good impression them whiskers make."

Murder flashed in the eyes of the Italian, as he ground out a
paralysing oath in his own tongue.

"There's a-goin' to be trouble between me an' ole 'Okey-Pokey.
Pleasant sort o' cove to 'ave about the 'ouse."

Customers began to drift in, and soon Bindle was kept busy fetching
and carrying for Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino, who by every means in
his power strove to give expression to the hatred of Bindle that was
burning in his soul.

At the end of the first day,--it was in reality the early hours of the
next morning,--as Bindle with Scratcher walked from Napolini's to the
Tube, he remarked, "Well, I ain't 'ungry, though I could drink a deal
more; still I says nothink about that; but as for tips, well, ole
'Okey-Pokey's pocketed every bloomin' penny. When I asked him to divvy
up fair, 'e started that machine-gun in 'is tummy, rolled 'is eyes,
an' seemed to be tryin' to tell me wot a great likin' 'e'd taken to
me. One o' these days somethink's goin' to 'appen to 'im," added
Bindle prophetically. "'E ain't no sport, any'ow."

"Wot's 'e done?" enquired Scratcher.

"I offered to fight 'im for the tips, an' all 'e did was to turn on
'is rattle;" and Bindle winked at the girl-conductor, who clanged the
train-gates behind him.

For nearly a week Bindle continued to work thirteen hours a day,
satisfying the hunger of others and quenching alien thirsts. Thanks to
judicious hints from Scratc