fuls of skilly and bread was the measure of my success. The man beside me ate his own share, and mine to boot, scraped the pannikins, and looked hungrily for more.
"I met a towny, and he stood me too good a dinner," I explained.
"An' I 'aven't 'ad a bite since yesterday mornin'," he replied.
"How about tobacco?" I asked. "Will the bloke bother with a fellow now?"
"Oh, no," he answered me. "No bloody fear. This is the easiest spike goin'. Y'oughto see some of them. Search you to the skin."
The pannikins scraped clean, conversation began to spring up. "This super'tendent 'ere is always writin' to the papers bout us mugs," said the man on the other side of me.
"What does he say?" I asked.
"Oh, 'e sez we're no good, a lot o' blackguards an' scoundrels as won't work. Tells all the ole tricks I've bin 'earin' for twenty years an w'ich I never seen a mug ever do. Las' thing of is I see, 'e was tellin' 'ow a mug gets out o' the spike, wi' a crust in is pockit. An w'en 'e sees a nice ole gentleman comin along the street 'e chucks the crust into the drain, an' borrows the old gent's stick to poke it out. An' then the ole gent gi'es 'im a tanner" [sixpence].
