The wag of the party, he whom they called Charlie, interfered:
“Look here, Henery,” said he—“you’ll be ’ittin’ a bloke harder nor what yer wish for, one evenin’, and meetin’ yer Gawd without a cellar-flap to dance your bloomin’ double-shuffle on, see? The girl’s right, see?”
The scowling fellow stooped down, emptied the money out of the pockets of the fallen man, the gold from one trouser pocket, the silver from the other, and banknotes from the breast-pocket of the coat. He put back a few shillings in silver, and growled at one of the others to let the watch be and keep his dirty hands from messing the toff’s clothes.
“Mates,” said he, “rub your hands clean on the seats of yer trouseys, and help me lift the aristocracy on to the road, so’s the dint in his head fits the curb, see!”
They lifted him amongst them.
“Steady. Now over ’ere a bit. That’s it. The curb just about fits where the bloomin’ lead hit his skull.... What a lovely accident he looks to be sure!... Charlie,” he winked at the others, “yer hit him harder than there was need for—he’s got a hole in his thinking-box yer could put a good character into.... Steady. That’s it, leave him alone, can’t yer!... Now, mates, shall we go and make ourselves conspicuous a-helpin’ the aristocracy to find their cabs—or shall we call the police?... On the whole, I’m for helpin’ the aristocracy. The police might think the lady had led the gent down here—for reasons. Good-night, lady.”
He took off his hat with mock solemnity.
Charlie gave a warning whistle:
“I hear a friend of mine coming down the road,” he said. “Scatter.”
They strode off into the darkness.