and a long gold watch guard hung round her fat neck. She greeted Crass
and Philpot with condescension, smiling affably upon them.

Meantime the game of shove-ha'penny proceeded merrily, the Semi-drunk
taking a great interest in it and tendering advice to both players
impartially. Bundy was badly beaten, and then Easton suggested that it
was time to think of going home. This proposal--slightly modified--met
with general approval, the modification being suggested by Philpot, who
insisted on standing one final round of drinks before they went.

While they were pouring this down their throats, Crass took a penny
from his waistcoat pocket and put it in the slot of the polyphone. The
landlord put a fresh disc into it and wound it up and it began to play
'The Boys of the Bulldog Breed.' The Semi-drunk happened to know the
words of the chorus of this song, and when he heard the music he
started unsteadily to his feet and with many fierce looks and gestures
began to roar at the top of his voice:

'They may build their ships, my lads,
And try to play the game,
But they can't build the boys of the Bulldog breed,
Wot made ole Hingland's--'

''Ere! Stop that, will yer?' cried the Old Dear, fiercely. 'I told you
once before that I don't allow that sort of thing in my 'ouse!'

The Semi-drunk stopped in confusion.

'I don't mean no 'arm,' he said unsteadily, appealing to the company.

'I don't want no chin from you!' said the Old Dear with a ferocious
scowl. 'If you want to make that row you can go somewheres else, and
the sooner you goes the better. You've been 'ere long enough.'

This was true. The man had been there long enough to spend every penny
he had been possessed of when he first came: he had no money left now,
a fact that the observant and experienced landlord had divined some
time ago. He therefore wished to get rid of the fellow before the
drink affected him further and made him helplessly drunk. The
Semi-drunk listened with indignation and wrath to the landlord's
insulting words.

'I shall go when the bloody 'ell I like!' he shouted. 'I shan't ask
you nor nobody else! Who the bloody 'ell are you? You're nobody! See?
Nobody! It's orf the likes of me that you gets your bloody livin'! I
shall stop 'ere as long as I bloody well like, and if you don't like it
you can go to 'ell!'

'Oh! Yer will, will yer?' said the Old Dear. 'We'll soon see about
that.' And, opening