the street, staggering, and now stood on guard at the door, her coarse,
handsome features alive with contempt.

"Wotcher doin' in my 'ouse?" suddenly inquired Sloppy, blinking with
suspicion at Flash Kate. "Yous go 'ome, me fine lady, afore yer git
yerself talked about."

The woman at the door laughed loudly, and pretended to examine with keen
interest a new wedding ring on her finger.

"Cum 'ere, an' I'll tear yer blasted eyes out," cried the drunkard,
turning on her furiously.

The ragpicker's daughter leaned forward, and inquired, "'Ow d'ye like
yer eggs done?"

At this simple inquiry the drunkard stamped her foot with rage, calling
on her enemy to prepare for instant death. And the two women bombarded
one another with insults, raking the gutter for adjectives, spitting like
angry cats across the width of the pavement.

The Push gathered round, grinning from ear to ear, sooling the women on as
if they were dogs. But just as a shove from behind threw Sloppy nearly
into the arms of her enemy, the Push caught sight of a policeman, and
walked away with an air of extreme nonchalance. At the same moment the
drunkard saw the dreaded uniform, and, obeying the laws of Cardigan
Street, pulled herself together and walked away, mumbling to herself.
The three women watched the performance without a word, critical as
spectators at a play. When they saw there would be no scratching,
they resumed their conversation.