The navvy is a real working-man, but he has to travel for work from place to place, and his jobs are very often short through no fault of his own. Being a rough, uncouth, and ill-mannered man, fond of drink and freedom to chew and smoke tobacco, to spit, and use strong language, he has no other option than to live in a common lodging-house, even though he is earning as much money as a good mechanic. Now, although a navvy spends the best part of his life among beggars in common lodging-houses, it is surprising how simple and innocent he is as to beggars' tricks and dodges. If he saw a man in a fit in the street, the navvy would be one of the last to suspect that man of being a fraud. If he saw a man making feeble attempts to climb a bridge's wall or railings, and drop into the river, the navvy would be the last to have suspicion that that man was doing so to introduce himself to one who would listen to his pitiful story, and help him with a shilling or more. And the navvy would never suspect the child that pretends to lose money and begins to cry in a loud voice. And yet this navvy spends his life in a lodging-house, where these cunning mortals live. These tricks are not so common as people suppose; they are in fact very rare. Many an honest man has fits, the rivers give up a number of suicides, and with regard to the child losing money--was there ever a child that did not? Beggars have various ways by which they can get shillings instead of pennies. When a beggar in a lodging-house kitchen produced a massive ring for the inspection of his fellow lodgers, it was eagerly commented on as "a good one"; by which they meant to say that it was a good imitation, for they all knew that it was a dummy. But a navvy saw that it was marked so many carats, felt that it was heavy, saw that it was of good colour, and exclaimed, to the derision of the lodgers assembled: "It's real gold! Did you pick it up?" "Will you give me sixpence for it?" asked the other. The navvy did not answer, for this question seemed to enlighten him. The ring dodge is a paying concern, for the sale of one ring often means dinner, drinks, supper, bed, and breakfast. The ring is, to all appearance, valuable; according to its colour, finish, weight, and--the best sign of all--its mark of carats. All that is to be done is to invite inspection, and if you are suspected of being a thief who is afraid to enter a pawnshop, so much the better, for you are almost certain to find an avaricious victim. Very few men can resist giving a couple of shillings for an article which they feel satisfied can be again easily disposed of at a good profit. I have often been invited as a would-be purchaser to examine a ring in the hand of a seedy-looking man, and, if he persists, I simply say, "I live in a doss-house," and he does not waste any more time on me.