The stakes, in half-crowns, were handed to the proprietor of the gallery,
and they took turns with the pea-rifle, resting their elbows on the ledge
as they stared down the black tube at a white disc that seemed miles away.
Each held the gun awkwardly like a broom-handle, holding their breath to
prevent the barrel from wobbling. At the fifth shot, by a lucky fluke,
Chook rang the bell. When he put down the rifle, Stinky was already
dragging Pinkey away, his face black with anger. But Chook cried out,

"'Ere, 'arf a mo'--this is my shout!"

They were near the ice-cream stall, where trade was brisk, for the
people's appetite for this delicacy is independent of the season. Pinkey,
who adored ice-cream, looked with longing eyes, but Stinky turned angrily
on his heel.

"'Ave a bit o' common, an' don't make a 'oly show of yerself 'cause yer
lost a dollar," she whispered in disgust.

She pulled him to a seat, and the party sat down to wait their turn.
Then the dealer scooped the frozen delicacy out of the can, and plastered
it into the glasses as if it were mortar. And they swallowed the icy
mixture in silence, allowing it to melt on the tongue to extract the
flavour before swallowing. All but Stinky, who held his glass as if it
belonged to someone else, disdaining to touch it. Chook's gorge rose
at the sight

"Don't eat it, if it chokes yer," he cried.

With an oath Stinky threw the glass on the ground, where it broke with a