“Not ’ere,” ses Ginger, who ’ad laid awake the night afore thinking wot to do if he met Bill Lumm. “If you wish to ’ave a spar with me, my lad, you must ’ave it where we can’t be interrupted. When I start on a man I like to make a good job of it.”
“Good job of it!” ses the other, starting. “Do you know who I am?”
“No, I don’t,” ses Ginger, “and, wot’s more, I don’t care.”
“My name,” ses the chap, speaking in a slow, careful voice, “is Bill Lumm.”
“Wot a ’orrid name!” ses Ginger.
“Otherwise known as the Wapping Basher,” ses Bill, shoving ’is face into Ginger’s and glaring at ’im.
“Ho!” ses Ginger, sniffing, “a amatoor.”
“Amatoor?” ses Bill, shouting.
“That’s wot we should call you over in Australia,” ses Ginger; “my name is Dick Duster, likewise known as the Sydney Puncher. I’ve killed three men in the ring and ’ave never ’ad a defeat.”