iful steak; done
to a turn at one-fifteen. Or it's curry day at the Oriental place in
Holborn, if you like curries. Or it's chop toad-in-the-hole day at
Salter's; ready at two o'clock. The one in Strand's the best. But don't
go sharp at two. Wait till about two-twenty. The batter ain't quite what
it should be at two sharp; but just after that it's perfect. Perfect, my
boy!"

We crossed the bridge to a running accompaniment from Georgie about the
times he had had in the old days before I was born or thought of--he is
always flinging this in my face. Motor-'buses were roaring through the
long, empty streets, carrying loads of labourers from the docks to their
northern homes, or work-girls from the northern factories to their homes
in the Island. The little, softly lighted toy and sweetstuff shops
gleamed upon us out of the greyness, and the tins of hot saveloys and
baked apples, which the hawkers were offering, smelt appetizing. From
tiny stalls outside the sweetstuff shops you may still purchase those
luscious delicacies of your childhood which seem to have disappeared
from every other quarter of London. I mean the toffee-apple about which,
if you remember, Vesta Victoria used to sing so alluringly.

I have two friends residing here--one at Folly Wall and one in Havana
Street. I decided that we would call on the latter, so Georgie stopped
at "The Regent," and took in a bottle of Red Seal for my friend and a
little drop of port for the missus--"just by way," as he explained, "of
being matey." My friend, a gateman at one of the dock stations, had just
gone home, and was sitting down to his tea. There is no doubt that the
housewives of the Island know how to prepare their old men's tea. In
nearly every house in this district you will find, at about six or seven
o'clock, in the living-room of the establishment, a good old hot stew
going, or tripe and onions, or fish and potatoes, or a meat-pudding; and
this, washed down with a pint of tea, is good enough hunting for any
human. Old Johnnie comes from the docks in his dirty working clothes;
but before ever he ventures to sit down to table he goes into the
scullery, strips, and has what he calls a "slosh down," afterwards
reappearing in a clean print shirt and serge trousers. Then, in this
comfortable attire, he attacks whatever the missus has got for him, and
studies the evening paper, to ascertain, firstly, what the political
(i.e. labour) situation is, and, secondly, what's