“How's the 'at?” he inquired.
Mr. Jobson winked. “Bet you a level 'arf-dollar I ain't wearing it next Sunday,” he said, in a hoarse whisper.
Mr. Foley edged away.
“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “I've had a good many bets with you first and last, Alf, but I can't remember as I ever won one yet. So long.”
FRIENDS IN NEED
R. Joseph Gibbs finished his half-pint in the private bar of the Red Lion with the slowness of a man unable to see where the next was coming from, and, placing the mug on the counter, filled his pipe from a small paper of tobacco and shook his head slowly at his companions.
“First I've 'ad since ten o'clock this morning,” he said, in a hard voice.
“Cheer up,” said Mr. George Brown.