“Well, now, this is a pleasure! who’d a thought it?” said the conductor, reaching up his hand.
“Is that for your fare or a shake, Slogger?” demanded Robin.
“A shake, of course, old feller,” replied the other, as Robin grasped the proffered hand;—“but I say,” he added in a lower key, “there’s no Slogger now in this ’ere world; he’s dead an’ buried long ago. My name is Villum Bowls—no connection wotever with Slogger. Oh no! we never mention ’im;—but, I say, w’en did you go into the genteel line? eh, Slidder?”
“Robin—Robin is my name now, Villum Bowls. I’ve changed it since we met last, though I hain’t cut old friends like you. Robin an’ Slidder ’ave been united, an’ a pretty pair they make, don’t they?”
“Middlin’. ’Old on till I get that ancient stout party shoved in. Looks like as if he was a goin’ in the opposite direction, but it don’t matter so long as we can get ’im in.—Now, then, sir, mind the step. All right? I say, Slid— Robin, I mean—”
“Vell, Slog— Villum, I mean; why don’t you say wot you mean, eh?”
“’Ow d’you like grey tights an’ buttons?” said the Slogger, with a bland smile.
“So—so,” replied Robin, with a careless air; “the grey is sober enough—quite suitable to my character—an’ I confess I’m fond o’ the buttons.”
“There’s enough of ’em to form a goodish overcoat a’most,” said the Slogger with a critical grin, “but I should ’ave thought ’em not sufficiently waterproof in wet weather.”
“Vell, they ain’t much use for that, Slog—eh, Villum; but you should see the dazzling display they makes in sunshine. W’y, you can see me half a mile off w’en I chance to be walking in Regent Street or drivin’ in the Park. But I value them chiefly because of the frequent and pleasant talks they get me with the ladies.”