"All right," I sez, 'orty an' airy. But ontry
noo, Charlie, old pal,
When I stocked up them beauties on bikes, I
wos most arf ashymed o' my gal.
One young piece in grey knicks and cream
cloth, and a sort of soft tile called a toke,
Took my fancy perdigious, dear boy. I'd
ha' blued arf-a-bull to 'ave spoke,
But a stiff-bristled swell in a dog-cart 'ad got
a sharp eye upon 'er;