Willie gave an imperceptible shudder as the bully shouldered his way through the intervening groups. "'Ere, boys, Little Willie's goin' to give us a cormic song!"
A roar of applause greeted this announcement, and several of Willie's particular tormentors closed up around him.
"I carn't sing to-night," protested the victim, feebly.
"More yer can any other time!"
Another round of applause followed this sally.
"Ain't yer going to offer us a tip at yer mug?" Big Bob said, as he caught up the tankard from the floor.
"In course, if yer ain't wet enough already," answered Willie.
"Mates," said the offended one, pointing dramatically at the youth on the bucket—"Mates, the nipper's 'inted as 'ow I'm squiffy! Then take yer bloomin' tipple; Oi'll 'ave none of it!" and he poured the whole contents of the pot over the luckless young soldier.
Willie rose with an angry flush, but someone from behind caught him by the ankle and sent him rolling to the floor.