"Lots o' people lives 'ere," he replied. "Who's Mr. What's-his-name, when he's at 'ome, and does 'is mother know he's out when he ain't?"
Mr. Fox-Cordery spelt the name, letter by letter--"R-a-t-h-b-e-a-l."
"Don't know the gent," said the hobbledehoy. "Is he a sport?"
No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say he was a sport.
"Is he a coster?"
No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say he was a coster.
"Is it sweeps?"
No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say it was sweeps.
"Give it up," said the hobbledehoy. "Arsk me another."
Another did not readily present itself to Mr. Fox-Cordery's usually fertile mind, and he stood irresolute.