wot reasonable 'uman beings policemen was at 'art. Besides them there
was quite a lot o' sailormen, even skippers and mates, nearly all of 'em
smoking big cigars, too, and looking at Ginger out of the corner of one
eye and at the Wapping Basher out of the corner of the other.

"Hit 'ard and hit straight," ses the landlord to Ginger in a low voice,
as they got out of the train and walked up the road. "'Ow are you
feeling?"

"I've got a cold coming on," ses pore Ginger, looking at the Basher, who
was on in front, "and a splitting 'eadache, and a sharp pain all down my
left leg. I don't think----"

"Well, it's a good job it's no worse," ses the land-lord; "all you've got
to do is to hit 'ard. If you win it's a 'undered pounds in my pocket,
and I'll stand you a fiver of it. D'ye understand?"

They turned down some little streets, several of 'em going diff'rent
ways, and arter crossing the River Lea got on to the marshes, and, as the
landlord said, the place might ha' been made for it.

A little chap from Mile End was the referee, and Bill Lumm, 'aving
peeled, stood looking on while Ginger took 'is things off and slowly and
carefully folded 'em up. Then they stepped toward each other, Bill
taking longer steps than Ginger, and shook 'ands; immediately arter which
Bill knocked Ginger head over 'eels.

[Illustration: "Bill Lumm, 'aving peeled, stood looking on while Ginger
took 'is things off."]