"Crossing the road a happy idea occurred to me. I thought I would
raffle it. At once I set to work to find a house where there might
seem to be a likely lot. It cost me three or four whiskies--for I
felt I didn't want any more beer, which is a thing that easily
upsets me--but at length I found just the crowd I wanted--a quiet
domestic-looking set in a homely little place off the Goswell Road.
"I explained my views to the landlord. He said he had no
objection; he supposed I would stand drinks round afterwards. I
said I should be delighted to do so, and showed him the bird.
"'It looks a bit poorly,' he said. He was a Devonshire man.
"'Oh, that's nothing,' I explained. 'I happened to drop it. That
will all wash off.'
"'It smells a bit queer, too,' he said.
"'That's mud,' I answered; 'you know what London mud is. And a
gentleman spilled some gin over it. Nobody will notice that when
it's cooked.'
"'Well,' he replied. 'I don't think I'll take a hand myself, but
if any other gent likes to, that's his affair.'
"Nobody seemed enthusiastic. I started it at sixpence, and took a
ticket myself.
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