“Right,” the man said. “Tuck in your tuppeny.”
Hi tucked in his tuppeny beneath the window, the little man made a run and leap and fell over.
“Mizzled the bleeding dick,” he said. “I’ll do it next time.”
The next time he did do it; he leaped on to Hi’s back and poised there; he was a horrid weight, but Hi was struck by the ease and certainty of the jump, and also by the silence of his tread: he was wearing old white deck shoes with rubber soles. He felt the man try the gratings by heaving all his weight on them.
“Not a give in the whole bleeding barrow,” the man said, leaping lightly down. “Now if old Alf was along, what got out of Princetown, it would be all right, wouldn’t it? You ain’t got a bit of wire?”
“No.”
“ ’Alf a mo’; go easy,” the man said. “You ain’t seen my cap since you come in?”
“No.”
“It ought to be somewheres, unless they pincht it. It’s a fair barracker when they pinch kit as well as quod a bloke. You ain’t got a cap: did they pinch yours?”
“No: I had none.”