"Wot, yer dunno me, as worked wid yer on that job in Kent Street? Dunno Joe Parsons, as danced wid yer missis at the bricklayers' picnic?"
The man stopped to think, trying to remember, but his brain refused the effort.
"Orl right," he muttered; "come an' 'ave a drink." And he turned to the bar.
"No fear," cried Chook, taking him affectionately by the arm, "no more fer me! I'm full up ter the chin, an' so are yous."
"Might's well 'ave another," said the man, obstinately.
Chook pulled him gently away from the hotel, along the street.
"It's gittin' late; 'ow'll yer ole woman rous w'en yer git 'ome?"
"Sez anythin' ter me, break 'er bleedin' jaw," muttered the bricklayer. And then his eyes flamed with foolish, drunken anger. "I earn the money, don' I, an' I spend it, don' I?" he inquired. And he refused to move till Chook answered his question.
The Push closed quietly in.
"'Oo are these blokes?" he asked uneasily.