“What cheer, Tuppeny?” replied my master. “Where’ve yer been to?”
“Lunnon Bridge,” replied Mr Tuppeny.
“An’ what ’ave yer got?” asked Stumpy.
“Only a rag,” said the other, in evident disgusts producing a white handkerchief.
“That ain’t much; I’ve boned a turnip.”
“Jus’ your luck. Let’s ’ave a look at him.”
Stumpy complied, and his comrade, lighting a match, surveyed me with evident complacency.
“Jus’ your luck,” said he again. “Where did yer git ’im?”
“At the gaff, off a young cove as was reg’lar screwed up. I could ’ave took ’is nose off if I’d a wanted it, and he wouldn’t have knowed.”
“Then this ’ere rag might ’a been some use,” replied the disconsolate Tuppeny. “’Tain’t worth three’a’pence.”