Snob. Peter's pence—eh?—well, if we maint speak of a Sunday in the street, let's come in—ours, you know, is a back room, up two pair—they can't hear us there—come along—I say, what shall we have to drink?
Snip. There's nothing but vater for us as can't afford vine—public-houses is shut—no sarving Sabbath-day.
Snob. Vell, never mind—ve'll try and cheat the old un. There are cunninger dogs than the law-makers, and them is the law-breakers. Go and ask missus to come and join us.
Snip. Oh, she'll come, and jump too; and I tells ye what—as we know'd we could not have no heavy wet to-day, she got a couple of bottles of Jacky, as will nourish us through the arternoon.
Snob. So it will, Bill; and we won't stir out at all. If we can't have a drop o' short, or a swig o' heavy among the rurals in the harbours—what's the country to us, we can't live upon hair?
Snip. No, not by no means. If I could but get my chin scraped, I'd try and make myself comfortable.
Snob. Is barber Jem at home?
Snip. Yes, shut up in his back parlour a-making wigs, where nobody can see him.
Snob. I tell ye vot, let's ax him to eat a bit of our mutton. He han't got nobody to cook for him, poor buffer, so we'll ax him over; and then if he brings his soap and a kipple of razors in his vestcoat pockets, he can shave us two, just by way of amusement, while Sal's getting the line ready.