there but a 'ole lot of pork-ribs," said Ginger to me. By 'out there' he meant the place where the corruption was dumped and sprinkled with strong disinfectant. "They was a prime lot, no end o' meat on 'em, an I 'ad 'em into my arms an' was out the gate an' down the street, a-lookin' for some 'un to gi' 'em to. Couldn't see a soul, an' I was runnin' round, clean crazy, the bloke runnin' after me an thinkin' I was slingin' my 'ook [running away]. But jest before 'e got me, I got a ole woman an' poked 'em into 'er apron."
O Charity, O Philanthropy, descend to the spike and take a lesson from Ginger. At the bottom of the Abyss he performed as purely an altruistic act as was ever performed outside the Abyss. It was fine of Ginger, and if the old woman caught some contagion from the 'no end o' meat' on the pork-ribs, it was still fine, though not so fine. But the most salient thing in this incident, it seems to me, is poor Ginger, clean crazy at sight of so much food going to waste.
It is the rule of the casual ward that a man who enters must stay two nights and a day; but I had seen sufficient for my purpose, had paid for my skilly and canvas, and was preparing to run for it.
"Come on, let's sling it," I said to one of my mates, pointing toward the open gate through which the dead wagon had come.
