“Did she see you in them clothes, ’Orace?” asked Mr. Tridge. “Well, then, that’s done it! She’ll be after you like a porous-plaster for them damages. Gals don’t get the chance of marrying himitation dooks every day,” he went on, a little maliciously. “And when they ’ave the chance and loses it—”
“Yes, if only she’d seen you in your shirt-sleeves and your old trowsis,” put in Mr. Clark, “very likely she’d only ’ave thought ‘good riddance to bad rubbish,’ and thought no more about you.”
“Ah, and that ain’t all, neither,” said Mr. Dobb, miserably. “What’s going to ’appen when my missis ’ears about it? I shan’t ever ’ear the last of it! If them two females was to meet—”
“There’s men in your position ’ave drownded themselves, ’Orace,” remarked Mr. Tridge, tonelessly.
“That’s about the only way out of it that I can see,” observed Mr. Lock, with brutal frankness.
“I never did trust women!” vehemently cried aloud Mr. Dobb. “Never!”
“The great thing, I should say,” mentioned Mr. Lock, “is to keep from kicking and struggling. Just keep quiet, and when you go down for the third time it’ll be all over. I’ve heard say that it’s really rather a pleasant feeling, once you get over your mouth being full of water.”
Mr. Dobb, setting his palms on his knees, turned and stared coldly at Mr. Lock.
“Ah, I shall always remember how you’re looking at me, ’Orace,” said Mr. Lock, gently. “Sort of sad and mournful.”
“I suppose,” vouchsafed Mr. Clark, thoughtfully—“I suppose as you can’t prove a hallybee, ’Orace? I done that once, and it come off all right, and we had the goose that very same night for supper.”