“Same 'ere,” ses Ginger, grinding his teeth. “Did she give you a smack on the side of your face?”
“Wot—are—you—talking about, Ginger?” ses Peter.
“Did she smack your face too?” ses Ginger.
“Yes,” ses Peter.
[HIS OTHER SELF]
They're as like as two peas, him and 'is brother,” said the night-watchman, gazing blandly at the indignant face of the lighterman on the barge below; “and the on'y way I know this one is Sam is because Bill don't use bad langwidge. Twins they are, but the likeness is only outside; Bill's 'art is as white as snow.”
He cut off a plug of tobacco, and, placing it in his cheek, waited expectantly.
“White as snow,” he repeated.
“That's me,” said the lighterman, as he pushed his unwieldy craft from the jetty. “I'll tell Sam your opinion of 'im. So long.”
The watchman went a shade redder than usual. That's twins all over, he said, sourly, always deceiving people. It's Bill arter all, and, instead of hurting 'is feelings, I've just been flattering of 'im up.