"Look closer at it, old gem'man," cried the porter. "The nearer you get, the more you'll admire it."
"Quite true," replied Loftus, fancying Morse had spoken; "it'll bear the closest inspection."
"I say, Ned," observed one of the charity-boys to the other, "do you get over the railin'; they must ha' dropped summat inside. See what it is."
"I'm afraid o' spikin' myself, Joe," replied the other; "but just give us a lift, and I'll try."
"Wot are you arter there, you young rascals?" cried the coalheaver; "come down, or I'll send the perlice to you."
"Wot two precious guys these is!" cried a ragamuffin lad, accompanied by a bulldog. "I've a good mind to chuck the little 'un off the post, and set Tartar at him. Here, boy, here!"
"That 'ud be famous fun, indeed, Spicer!" cried another rapscallion behind him.
"Arrah! let 'em alone, will you there, you young divils!" cried an Irish bricklayer; "don't you see they're only two paiceable antiquaries."
"Oh, they're antiquaries, are they?" screamed the little street-sweeper. "Vell, I never see the likes on 'em afore; did you, Sam?"
"Never," replied the porter.