"I can take you no further," said the cabman: "my fare is
three shillings."
"What am I to do?" said Sybil, taking out her purse.
"The best thing the young lady can do," said the dustman, in a
hoarse voice, "is to stand something to us all."
"That's your time o'day," squeaked a young thief.
"I'll drink your health with very great pleasure my dear,"
hiccupped the woman.
"How much have you got there?" said the young thief making a
dash at the purse, but he was not quite tall enough, and
failed.
"No wiolence," said one of the ruffians taking his pipe out of
his mouth and sending a volume of smoke into Sybil's face,
"we'll take the young lady to Mother Poppy's, and then we'll
make a night of it."
But at this moment appeared a policeman, one of the permanent
garrison of the quarter, who seeing one of her Majesty's
carriages in trouble thought he must interfere. "Hilloa," he
said, "what's all this?" And the cabman, who was a good
fellow though in too much trouble to aid Sybil, explained in
the terse and picturesque language of Cockaigne, doing full
justice to his late fare, the whole circumstances.
"Oh! that's it," said the policeman, "the lady's respectable
is she? Then I'd advise you and Hell Fire Dick to stir your
chalks, Splinter-legs.
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