"Then sometimes, when 'e's gettin' up in the mornin', George Five'll nip round for a jaw, and o' course kings can go anywhere, an' you mustn't keep 'em waitin'. So up 'e goes, an' there's L.J. a-talkin' to 'imself as 'e tries to get into 'is collar, an' George Five a-'elpin' to find 'is collar-stud when 'e drops it an' it rolls under the chest o' drawers."
Ginger continued to gaze at Bindle with surprise stamped on his freckled face.
"You got a kid's job to 'is, Ging," continued Bindle, warming to his subject. "If Llewellyn John 'ops round the corner for a drink an' to 'ave a look at the papers, they're after 'im in two ticks. Why 'e's 'ad to give up 'is 'ot bath on Saturday nights because 'e was always catchin' cold through nippin' out into the 'all to answer the telephone, 'im in only a smile an' 'is whiskers."
Ginger spat, indecision marking the act.
"Works like a blackleg, 'e does, an' all 'e gets is blackguardin'. No," added Bindle solemnly, "don't you never change jobs with 'im, Ging, it 'ud kill you, it would really."
"I don't 'old wiv war," grumbled Ginger, falling back upon his main line of defence. "Look at the price of beer!" He gazed moodily into the depths of his empty pewter.
"Funny cove you are, Ging," said Bindle pleasantly.
Ginger spat viciously, missing the spittoon by inches.
"There ain't no pleasin' you," continued Bindle, digging into the bowl of his pipe with a match stick. "You ain't willin' to die for your country, an' you don't seem to want to live for the twins."
"Wot's the use o' twins?" demanded Ginger savagely. "Now if they'd been goats——"