They saw the names of new pieces, of new actors and actresses, with which they were much gratified.
Like boys let out from school, they were in the best of spirits, forgetting for the nonce that they were but exchanging one prison-house for another.
When they reached the railway station a crowd collected to see them alight. They could hear the remarks of the people, which were by no means complimentary, and two or three of the gang of convicts made use of coarse expletives in an undertone.
The warders in charge of the convicts did not give them much time to indulge in idle curiosity; the prisoners were hustled into a large third-class carriage and told to take their seats. They obeyed sulkily, and those next to the windows thrust out their heads and began begging for tobacco from those who were on the platform.
“Now then, guv’nor—you with the barnacles I mean”—cried one, “we are all down in the dumps. Give us a bit o’ ’bacco, you won’t miss it, ever so little a bit.” The speaker held out his hand and a costermonger emptied his tobacco box, the contents of which he placed in the hand of the prisoner.
“Good luck to ye, and many thanks,” cried the latter.
“Aint one of you got never such a thing as a cigar about you?” said another convict.
Three cigars were thrown in at the window by a heavy swell.
“Thank you, sir, you’re worth your weight in gold. I wish there were more like you in this world.”
“Get down, we’ve had enough o’ this,” said one of the warders, in a commanding tone.