People like you ’ud find it lonely (he continued, after a pause); I did at fust. I used to let people come and sit ’ere with me of an evening talking, but I got tired of it arter a time, and when one chap fell overboard while ’e was showing me ’ow he put his wife’s mother in ’er place, I gave it up altogether. There was three foot o’ mud in the dock at the time, and arter I ’ad got ’im out, he fainted in my arms. Arter that I kept myself to myself. Say wot you like, a man’s best friend is ’imself. There’s nobody else’ll do as much for ’im, or let ’im off easier when he makes a mistake. If I felt a bit lonely I used to open the wicket in the gate and sit there watching the road, and p’r’aps pass a word or two with the policeman. Then something ’appened one night that made me take quite a dislike to it for a time. I was sitting there with my feet outside, smoking a quiet pipe, when I ’eard a bit of a noise in the distance. Then I ’eard people running and shouts of “Stop, thief!” A man came along round the corner full pelt, and, just as I got up, dashed through the wicket and ran on to the wharf. I was arter ’im like a shot and got up to ’im just in time to see him throw something into the dock. And at the same moment I ’eard the other people run past the gate. “Wot’s up?” I ses, collaring ’im. “Nothing,” he ses, breathing ’ard and struggling. “Let me go.” He was a little wisp of a man, and I shook ’im like a dog shakes a rat. I remembered my own pocket being picked, and I nearly shook the breath out of ’im. “And now I’m going to give you in charge,” I ses, pushing ’im along towards the gate. “Wot for?” he ses, purtending to be surprised. “Stealing,” I ses. “You’ve made a mistake,” he ses; “you can search me if you like.” “More use to search the dock,” I ses. “I see you throw it in. Now you keep quiet, else you’ll get ’urt. If you get five years I shall be all the more pleased.” I don’t know ’ow he did it, but ’e did. He seemed to sink away between my legs, and afore I knew wot was ’appening, I was standing upside down with all the blood rushing to my ’ead. As I rolled over he bolted through the wicket, and was off like a flash of lightning. A couple o’ minutes arterwards the people wot I ’ad ’eard run past came back agin. There was a big fat policeman with ’em—a man I’d seen afore on the beat—and, when they ’ad gorn on, he stopped to ’ave a word with me. “’Ot work,” he ses, taking off his ’elmet and wiping his bald ’ead with a large red handkerchief. “I’ve lost all my puff.” “Been running?” I ses, very perlite. “Arter a pickpocket,” he ses. “He snatched a lady’s purse just as she was stepping aboard the French boat with her ’usband. ‘Twelve pounds in it in gold, two peppermint lozenges, and a postage stamp.’” He shook his ’ead, and put his ’elmet on agin.