"Here," said I, tossing a sixpence to him, "and you can keep the change."
"Why, ye see, sir," he began, somewhat mollified, "it be precious 'ard to know who's a gentleman, an' who ain't; who's a thief, an' who ain't these days."
"How so?"
"Why, only a little while ago—just afore you—chap comes a-walkin' in 'ere, no account much to look at, but very 'aughty for all that—comes a-walkin in 'ere 'e do an' calls for a pint o' ale—you 'eard 'im, all on ye?" He broke off, turning to the others; "you all 'eard 'im call for a pint o' ale?"
"Ah—we 'eard 'im," they nodded.
"Comes a-walkin' in 'ere 'e do, bold as brass—calls for a pint o' ale—drinks it off, an'—'ands me 'is 'at; you all seen 'im 'and me 'is 'at?" he inquired, once more addressing the others.
"Every man of us," the four chimed in with four individual nods.
"'Wot's this 'ere?' says I, turnin' it over. 'It's a 'at, or once was,' says 'e. 'Well, I don't want it,' says I. 'Since you've got it you'd better keep it,' says 'e. 'Wot for?' says I? 'Why,' says 'e, 'it's only fair seein' I've got your ale—it's a case of exchange,' says 'e. 'Oh! is it?' says I, an' pitched the thing out into the road an' 'im arter it—an' so it ended. An' wot," said the red-faced man nodding his big head at me, "wot d'ye think o' that now?"
"Why, I think you were perhaps a trifle hasty," said I.
"Oh, ye do, do ye?"