Thereupon, with a neat wrench, Jim liberated his friend, and Koko rose to his feet, looking battered and sorry for himself.
"You ought to know better than to scrap with me, young fellow," said Jim; "you ought to know it's no use."
Koko rubbed his bald head ruefully. "Give me a bran mash," he said; "that winded me."
"Right you are," said the Long 'Un, taking a glass jar off one of the shelves.
"Steady!" cried Koko, observing the label on the jar; "that's prussic acid."
Jim, however, got two tumblers and proceeded to measure out a couple of drams.
"No--I keep my whisky in this jar," he said, drawing some fresh water from the tap; "it's safer here. Mrs Brown, my old lady upstairs, has a liking for whisky, and used to help herself out of my bottle when I was out--so I got a clean jar, put a prussic acid label on it, filled it with whisky, and now she hunts in vain."
"Smart man, Jim," laughed Koko, who then proceeded to roll out the notes and put them carefully away in his pocket-book.
"You see," said Jim, when they had settled themselves down by the fire, "I've been catching on about here lately."
"Cutting out the bearded man?"