It was over six months since he 'ad had the letter from 'is uncle, and 'e was up here at the “Cauliflower” with some more of us one night, when Dicky Weed, the tailor, turns to Bob Pretty and he ses, “Who's the old gentleman that's staying with you, Bob?”
Bob Pretty puts down 'is beer very careful and turns round on 'im.
“Old gentleman?” he ses, very slow. “Wot are you talking about?”
“I mean the little old gentleman with white whiskers and a squeaky voice,” ses Dicky Weed.
“You've been dreaming,” ses Bob, taking up 'is beer ag'in.
“I see 'im too, Bob,” ses Bill Chambers.
“Ho, you did, did you?” ses Bob Pretty, putting down 'is mug with a bang. “And wot d'ye mean by coming spying round my place, eh? Wot d'ye mean by it?”
“Spying?” ses Bill Chambers, gaping at 'im with 'is mouth open; “I wasn't spying. Anyone 'ud think you 'ad done something you was ashamed of.”
“You mind your business and I'll mind mine,” ses Bob, very fierce.
“I was passing the 'ouse,” ses Bill Chambers, looking round at us, “and I see an old man's face at the bedroom winder, and while I was wondering who 'e was a hand come and drawed 'im away. I see 'im as plain as ever I see anything in my life, and the hand, too. Big and dirty it was.”