'Then why don't yer go home? There's nothen' to keep yer 'ere, I 'ope? Plenty of trains to all parts, and I'll carry yer bag for nothen', allowin' you've got one, only for the satisfaction of seein' the last of yer.'
I told him I would remember that, and, bursting into uncontrollable laughter at his peculiarly ugly, wicked face, I walked off, scarce knowing but that I should feel the blow of ''arf a brick' in the back of my head as I went.
I met a boatman with whom I had gone fishing on some occasions.
'Thomas,' said I, pointing to the leaning figure, 'who is that queer little chap?'
'Jimmie Mason,' replied Thomas, with a half-glance at the wall-scab, then turning his back upon it.
'Has he ever been hung?' said I.
'Don't think he could have been quite old enough for it,' he replied, turning again to look at the little man. 'They cut a man down from the gibbet on the sand hills yonder,' said he, pointing in the direction of Deal, 'when my father was a boy, and he used to say that, when the man got sprung, he'd relate, in beautiful language, how he felt when he was turned off.'
'A dose of turning-off would do that gent in the sou'wester a great deal of good,' said I. 'He's a sort of man, you know, to murder you when you're out fishing with him. He's a sort of man to stab you in the back with a great clasp knife, and drag your body into the empty house, which never lets ever after.'