“I say, Bill, old man,” observed Peace, “I am a bit lumbered up here with a lot of things which would be best out of the way. Do you see?”
“Well, I should just say I did see, and no flies,” cried Bill. “Why, Charlie, you’ve got what one might call a regular museum, a sort of old curiosity shop, stowed away in nooks and corners. It would not be particularly healthy for yer if the pleece were to take a review of all the blessed lot—not at all healthy.”
“I quite agree with you, Bill. So I’ve been thinking we had better have a clearance—get shut of the whole blooming lot, eh?”
“Right you are, guv’nor. Turn the whole blessed collection into ready money. Get as many quids as you can for them, and then snap your fingers at the blooming bobbies.”
“That’s just what I intend to do. So you see, Bill, we will, now the place is all to ourselves, set about the business at once.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just this. I’ve got two or three old hampers in the stable, and I want your assistance.”
“All right; I’m on.”
“Very well. We will at once proceed to fill the hampers, and to-morrow, please the pigs, will get them off to the East-end, to old Simmonds—he’ll give as much as anybody.”
“Don’t care a great deal about Simmonds—he’s not a square sort of chap, to my thinking.”