“We used to be ’ated for a ’undred miles round the poor old ‘Jane Gladys,’” recalled Mr. Tridge, regretfully.
“‘Strictly business!’—that’s got to be one of our motters,” continued Mr. Dobb. “And the other must be ‘’Elp one another!’”
“Well, I like that!” exploded Mr. Clark. “And only the day before yesterday you refused to let me ’ave a cracked old second-’and teapot on credit!”
“And now ’ere we are, all hassembled for a trial trip, so to speak,” said Mr. Dobb, blandly ignoring the interruption. “If we work it right, there’s a couple of quid in it for each of you.”
“And what do you take?” demanded Mr. Tridge.
“I take the risk,” answered Mr. Dobb, simply.
“Oh, well, what’s the hidea, anyway?” asked Mr. Lock. “The boss ’as only given me one night off from the saloon, so I can’t stop here till to-morrow while you and Joe gets arguing as to whether you’re a miser or a philanthro-what-is-it! I suppose you’ve got some notion to put before us? You generally have.”
“And I ’ave now.” Mr. Dobb assured him. “A good ’un, too! You know old George Pincott?”
“The chap what’s lately started in the second-hand business in opposition to you?” returned Mr. Lock. “Aye, I know him. He often drops in at our place for a game of billiards.”
“I know ’e does,” admitted Mr. Dobb. “I’ve been taking that into account.”