| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 1179 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
a bit early - so w'en 'e kept on shoutin' I never made no answer to 'im, but ups with me fist an' I gives 'im a slosh in the dial an' stopped 'is clock! Then I chucked the pot o' w'ite paint hover 'im, an' kicked 'im down the bloody stairs.' `Serve 'im blooming well right, too,' said Crass as he took a fresh glass of beer from one of the others, who had just `stood' another round. `What did the b--r say to that?' inquired the tall man. `Not a bloody word!' replied the little man, `'E picked 'isself up, and called a keb wot was passin' an' got inter it an' went 'ome; an' I never seen no more of 'im until about 'arf-past eleven the next day, w'en I was second-coatin' the room, an' 'e comes up with a noo suit o' clothes on, an' arsts me if I'd like to come hover to the pub an' 'ave a drink? So we goes hover, an' 'e calls for a w'iskey an' soda |
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