He walked to the door leading to the bar, where Bob was doing ’is best to serve customers and listen at the same time, and arter locking it put the key in ’is pocket. Then ’e put his ’and in ’is pocket and slapped some money down on the table in front o’ Charlie.
“There’s a month’s pay instead o’ notice,” he ses. “Now git.”
“George!” screams ’is wife. “’Ow dare you? ’Ave you gone crazy?”
“I’m surprised at you,” ses old Burge, who’d been looking on with ’is mouth wide open, and pinching ’imself to see whether ’e wasn’t dreaming.
“I don’t go for your orders,” ses Charlie, getting up. “Wot d’ye mean by locking that door?”
“Wot!” roars Dixon. “Hang it! I mustn’t lock a door without asking my barman now. Pack up and be off, you swab, afore I start on you.”
Charlie gave a growl and rushed at ’im, and the next moment ’e was down on the floor with the ’ardest bang in the face that he’d ever ’ad in ’is life. Mrs. Dixon screamed and ran into the kitchen, follered by old Burge, who went in to tell ’er not to be frightened. Charlie got up and went for Dixon agin; but he ’ad come back as ’ard as nails and ’ad a rushing style o’ fighting that took Charlie’s breath away. By the time Bob ’ad left the bar to take care of itself, and run round and got in the back way, Charlie had ’ad as much as ’e wanted and was lying on the sea-chest in the corner trying to get ’is breath.
“Yes? Wot d’ye want?” ses Dixon, with a growl, as Bob came in at the door.