“There’s no disgrace in bein’ beat by a man like ’im, mate,” said Philpot. “’E’s a champion!”
“Yes, there’s no mistake about it. ’E throws a splendid ring!” said Bundy.
This was the general verdict. The Semi-drunk, though beaten, was not disgraced: and he was so affected by the good feeling manifested by the company that he presently produced a sixpence and insisted on paying for another half-pint all round.
Crass had gone outside during this conversation, but he returned in a few minutes. “I feel a bit easier now,” he remarked with a laugh as he took the half-pint glass that the Semi-drunk passed to him with a shaking hand. One after the other, within a few minutes, the rest followed Crass’s example, going outside and returning almost immediately: and as Bundy, who was the last to return, came back he exclaimed:
“Let’s ’ave a game of shove-’a’penny.”
“All right,” said Easton, who was beginning to feel reckless. “But drink up first, and let’s ’ave another.”
He had only sevenpence left, just enough to pay for another pint for Crass and half a pint for everyone else.
The shove-ha’penny table was a planed mahogany board with a number of parallel lines scored across it. The game is played by placing the coin at the end of the board—the rim slightly overhanging the edge—and striking it with the back part of the palm of the hand, regulating the force of the blow according to the distance it is desired to drive the coin.
“What’s become of Alf tonight?” inquired Philpot of the landlord whilst Easton and Bundy were playing. Alf was the barman.
“’E’s doing a bit of a job down in the cellar; some of the valves gone a bit wrong. But the missus is comin’ down to lend me a hand presently. ’Ere she is now.”