Here they met nightly, as men meet at their club--a terror to the neighbourhood. Their chief diversion was to guy the pedestrians, leaping from insult to swift retaliation if one resented their foul comments. "Garn!" one was saying, "I tell yer some 'orses know more'n a man. I remember old Joe Riley goin' inter the stable one day to a brown mare as 'ad a derry on 'im 'cause 'e flogged 'er crool. Well, wot does she do? She squeezes 'im up agin the side o' the stable, an' nearly stiffens 'im afore 'e cud git out. My oath, she did!" "That's nuthin' ter wot a mare as was runnin' leader in Daly's 'bus used ter do," began another, stirred by that rivalry which makes talkers magnify and invent to cap a story; but he stopped suddenly as two girls approached. One was short and fat, a nugget, with square, sullen features; the other, thin as a rake, with a mass of red hair that fell to her waist in a thick coil. "'Ello, Ada, w'ere you goin'?" he inquired, with a facetious grin. "Cum 'ere, I want ter talk ter yer." The fat girl stopped and laughed. "Can't--I'm in a 'urry," she replied. "Well, kin I cum wid yer?" he asked, with another grin. "Not wi' that face, Chook," she answered, laughing. "None o' yer lip, now, or I'll tell Jonah wot yer were doin' last night," said Chook. "W'ere is Joe?" asked the girl, suddenly serious. "Tell 'im I want ter see 'im." "Gone ter buy a smoke; 'e'll be back in a minit." "Right-oh, tell 'im wot I said," replied Ada, moving away. "'Ere, 'old 'ard, ain't yer goin' ter interdooce yer cobber?" cried Chook, staring at the red-headed girl. "An' 'er ginger 'air was scorchin' all 'er back," he sang in parody, suddenly cutting a caper and snapping his fingers. The girl's white skin flushed pink with anger, her eyes sparkled with hate. "Ugly swine! I'll smack yer jaw, if yer talk ter me," she cried. "Blimey, 'ot stuff, ain't it?" inquired Chook. "Cum on, Pinkey. Never mind 'im," cried Ada, moving off. "Yah, go 'ome an' wash yer neck!" shouted Chook, with sudden venom. The red-headed girl stood silent, searching her mind for a stinging retort. "Yer'd catch yer death o' cold if yer washed yer own," she cried; and the two passed out of sight, tittering. Chook turned to his mates. "She kin give it lip, can't she?" said he, in admiration.