“I’ll tell yer ’ow much war ’e done. When they talked about conscription, ’e got that frightened, ’e went out every day and tried to drink himself from a A1 man into a C III man, and by God! ’e succeeded.”
“You don’t say so!”
“I do say so. And more. When ’is turn came, ’e was in the ’orspital with Delirious Trimmings.”
“My God!”
“’E’s only just come out. ’E’s all right as long as ’e don’t get ’old of a little money.”
“What do you mean?”
“If ’e can get ’old of the price of a few whiskies, ’e’ll ’ave another attack come on! What are yer goin’ ter ’ave—tea or cocoa?”
“I must go! I must go!” exclaimed the only customer Mrs. Boggins had had for two days, and gripping his umbrella he dashed out of the shop.
“Good Lord! there’s another one got ’em!” ejaculated the good landlady. “I wonder whether ’e pinched anything while I was out? ’Ere! Come back, you dirty little bow-legged swipe!”
But Mr. Pothecary was racing down the lane, muttering to himself: “Yes, that was a good action! A very good action indeed!”