Says I: “They’re right there behind them sandbags, old cock! And don’t you forget it, neither!”
“And don’t they come out and show themselves?” ’e asks.
“Wot for?” says I.
“Why, for us blokes to shoot at, of course!” ’e says.
One mornin’ early while we was standin’ to arms ’e lights up a bumper, so I tells ’im not to let the officer cop ’im or there’d be trouble. Just then along comes the bloomin’ officer, so ’Enessy sticks ’is lighted bumper down south into ’is overcoat pocket, and ’olds it there out of sight. The officer sniffs about a bit, then ’e asks ’Enessy: “Are you smoking?”
“No, sir!” says ’Enessy.
“Well, I can smell smoke!” says the officer. Then ’e looks pretty ’ard at ’Enessy and says: “What’s your name?”
“’Enessy, sir.”
“Well, Henessy, your pocket’s on fire!”
’Enessy looks, and hang me if that bloomin’ cigarette ’adn’t set fire to ’is coat pocket. But the officer only says: “Don’t do it again!” and whips off.