CHAPTER II.

Let me see, what was I after? Oh, yes, I remember. I was going to
tell you about our Slavey and the pretty pickle she got us into. I'm
not sure it wasn't POTTLE'S fault. I said to him, just as he was
wiping his mouth on the back of his hand after his fourth pint of
shandy-gaff, "POTTLE, my boy," I said, "you're no end of a chap for
shouting 'Cash forward!' so that all the girls in the shop hear you
and say to one another, 'My, what a lovely voice that young POTTLE'S
got!' But you're not much good at helping a pal to order a new coat,
nor for the matter of that, in helping him to try it on." But POTTLE
only hooked up his nose and looked scornful. Well, when the coat came
home the Slavey brought it up, and put it on my best three-legged
chair, and then flung out of the room with a toss of her head, as much
as to say, "'Ere's extravagance!" First I looked at the coat, and then
the coat seemed to look at me. Then I lifted it up and put it down
again, and sent out for three-ha'porth of gin. Then I tackled the
blooming thing again. One arm went in with a ten-horse power shove.
Next I tried the other. After no end of fumbling I found the sleeve.
"In you go!" I said to my arm, and in he went, only it happened to be
the breast-pocket. I jammed, the pocket creaked, but I jammed hardest,
and in went my fist, and out went the pocket.

Then I sat down, tired and sad, and the lodging-house cat came in and
lapped up the milk for my tea, and MOSER'S bull-dog just looked me
up, and went off with the left leg of my trousers, and the landlady's
little boy peeped round the door and cried, "Oh, Mar, the poor
gentleman's red in the face--I'm sure he's on fire!" And the local
fire-brigade was called up, and they pumped on me for ten minutes, and
then wrote "Inextinguishable" in their note-books, and went home; and