and gave it to Bill to mind, for I thought it would be safer with him
than with me.

"Hang on to that," I says, "and don't lose it for your natural
life's sake, or Stiffner'll stiffen us."

We put up about nine bob's worth of drinks that night--me and
Bill--and Stiffner didn't squeal: he was too sharp. He shouted once
or twice.

By-and-by I left Bill and turned in, and in the morning when I woke up
there was Bill sitting alongside of me, and looking about as lively as
the fighting kangaroo in London in fog time. He had a black eye and
eighteen pence. He'd been taking down some of the mugs.

"Well, what's to be done now?" I asked. "Stiffner can smash us
both with one hand, and if we don't pay up he'll pound our swags and
cripple us. He's just the man to do it. He loves a fight even more
than he hates being had."

"There's only one thing to be done, Jim," says Bill, in a tired,
disinterested tone that made me mad.

"Well, what's than" I said.

"Smoke!"

"Smoke be damned," I snarled, losing my temper.

"You know dashed well that our swags are in the bar, and we can't