the Carpenter, for my benefit. And, on asking him what the spike was, he answered, "The casual ward. It's a cant word, you know."
But what surprised me was that he should have the word 'cant' in his vocabulary, a vocabulary that I found was no mean one before we parted.
I asked them what I might expect in the way of treatment, if we succeeded in getting into the Poplar Workhouse, and between them I was supplied with much information. Having taken a cold bath on entering, I would be given for supper six ounces of bread and 'three parts of skilly.' Three parts means three-quarters of a pint, and 'skilly' is a fluid concoction of three quarts of oatmeal stirred into three buckets and a half of hot water.
"Milk and sugar, I suppose, and a silver spoon?" I queried.
"No fear. Salt's what you'll get, an' I've seen some places where you'd not get any spoon. 'Old 'er up an' let 'er run down, that's 'ow they do it."
"You do get good skilly at 'Ackney," said the Carter.
"Oh, wonderful skilly, that," praised the Carpenter, and each looked eloquently at the other.
"Flour an' water at St. George's in the East," said the Carter.
The Carpenter nodded. He had tried them all.
