place, I gave it up altogether. There was three foot o' mud in the dock
at the time, and arter I 'ad got 'im out, he fainted in my arms.

Arter that I kept myself to myself. Say wot you like, a man's best
friend is 'imself. There's nobody else'll do as much for 'im, or let 'im
off easier when he makes a mistake. If I felt a bit lonely I used to
open the wicket in the gate and sit there watching the road, and p'r'aps
pass a word or two with the policeman. Then something 'appened one night
that made me take quite a dislike to it for a time.

I was sitting there with my feet outside, smoking a quiet pipe, when I
'eard a bit of a noise in the distance. Then I 'eard people running and
shouts of "Stop, thief!" A man came along round the corner full pelt,
and, just as I got up, dashed through the wicket and ran on to the wharf.
I was arter 'im like a shot and got up to 'im just in time to see him
throw something into the dock. And at the same moment I 'eard the other
people run past the gate.

"Wot's up?" I ses, collaring 'im.

"Nothing," he ses, breathing 'ard and struggling. "Let me go."

He was a little wisp of a man, and I shook 'im like a dog shakes a rat.
I remembered my own pocket being picked, and I nearly shook the breath
out of 'im.

"And now I'm going to give you in charge," I ses, pushing 'im along
towards the gate.

"Wot for?" he ses, purtending to be surprised.