“You’re another!” cried a voice.
“Don’t ee give me any o’ yer cheek, young man, or you may get a prop in the eye.”
“Heigh, my Jack-o’-dandy, you’ll spile yer pretty govers if ye shove us common people about like this ’ere,” observed a rustic to a young swell.
“Look at the old bloke with the green goggles, how uneasy he is to find himself somew’eres. Keep still, old gentleman—we’ll make it all right for you arter a bit.”
“Order—silence! Where are you shoving to, yer fool?” cried a stout farmer. “Haven’t ye ever bin to a fair afore?”
“Take care of your pockets!” cried a policeman, from the outside, “you as has got anything in ’em,” he added, with official sarcasm.
“All right, bobby, we’re fly—all on us regularly up to the knocker.”
“Don’t squeesh—don’t squeesh!” cried a Cockney costermonger, with the good humoured raillery of his class. “If there’s one thing as I hates more than another, it is to be squeeshed. The doctor says as how my constertootion won’t bear it.”
“Oh, Bill!” murmured a female voice from the abyss.
“Vell, you knows I can’t bear it, Sall,” returned the costermonger. “You knows as how I’ve a delecate constertootion.”