"'E's dropped 'is knife," said my interlocutor, and joined in the
search.

"What sort of 'andle was it, Matey?" said a small white-faced
sniffing boy in a big bowler hat.

I supplied the information. His sharp little face scrutinised the
ground about us.

"GOT it," he said, and pounced.

"Give it 'ere," said the big boy hoarsely, and secured it.

I walked towards him serenely confident that he would hand it over
to me, and that all was for the best in the best of all possible
worlds.

"No bloomin' fear!" he said, regarding me obliquely. "Oo said it
was your knife?"

Remarkable doubts assailed me. "Of course it's my knife," I said.
The other boys gathered round me.

"This ain't your knife," said the big boy, and spat casually.

"I dropped it just now."

"Findin's keepin's, I believe," said the big boy.

"Nonsense," I said. "Give me my knife."