“Now what’s the good of talking like that!” said McCall sternly, and letting a wink at me.
“More I ain’t,” asserted Arthur.
“Then I was at Deptford and Greenwich—know Greenwich?” continued Jerry.
“No,” replied Larry, then adding nonchalantly, “Arthur does.”
“No, I don’t, I don’t,” said Arthur wormily, for Jerry was glaring at him, and that fighting scar all down his nose, where his wife Katey once hit him with the spout of a kettle, was very disturbing.
“What’s the good of that?” urged the devilish-minded Larry. “Why don’t you talk to the gentleman, you don’t want to vex him, do you?”
“You ain’t blooming silly, are you?” queried Jerry.
Without waiting for reply he drifted off again.
“Me and my mate was doing a bit o’ road with oranges and things, you know—three for a ’eaver—down Mary’s Cray; d’ye know Mary’s Cray?”
But this time Arthur was looking avidly out of the window.