"Oh, that's all wrong," cried the boy. "W'y, 'ow should 'ee know hanythink about streets? Never goes nowheres, does nothink but sell snuff an' pigtail, mornin', noon, and night. 'Ee should have said, _right_ round the corner to your right, and 'ee should have added `sir,' for that's right w'en a gen'l'm'n's spoke to, arter w'ich, w'en you've left this 'ere street, take second turnin' to your left, if you're left-'anded, an' then you come hall right. That's 'ow 'ee ought to have said it, sir." In the midst of this flow of information, Mr Sparks emerged into the street. "I'll show you the way for love, sir, if you ain't got no money," said the boy in a tone of mock sincerity, stepping up and touching his cap. "Let 'im alone, Bloater," cried another and smaller boy, "don't you see ee's one of the swell mob, an' don't want to 'ave too much attention drawed to him?" "No 'ee ain't, Little Jim, ee's only a gen'l'm'n in disguise," replied the Bloater, sidling up to Mr Sparks, and urgently repeating, "show you the way for a copper, sir, _only_ a copper." Mr Sparks, being, as we have said, an irascible man, and particularly out of humour that evening, did not vouchsafe a reply, but, turning suddenly round, gave the Bloater a savage kick that turned him head over heels into the road. The Bloater, whose proper name was Robert Herring, from which were derived the aliases, Raw Herring and the Bloater, immediately recovered himself and rushed at Mr Sparks with his broom. He was a strong, resolute, passionate boy, yet withal good-humoured and placable. In the first burst of indignation he certainly meant to commit a violent assault, but he suddenly changed his mind. Perhaps the look and attitude of his antagonist had something to do with the change; perhaps the squeaky voice of Little Jim, shouting "hooray, Bloater, go in an' win," may have aroused his sense of the ludicrous, which was very strong, and helped to check him. At all events, instead of bringing his broom down on the head of Mr Sparks, Bloater performed an impromptu war-dance round him and flourished his weapon with a rapidity that was only surpassed by the rapid flow of his language. "Now then, Gunpowder, come on; wot do you mean by it--eh? You low-minded son of a pepper-castor! Who let you out o' the cruet-stand? Wot d'ee mean by raisin' yer dirty foot ag'in a _honest_ man, w'ch _you_ ain't, an' never was, an' never will be, an' never _could_ be, seein' that both your respected parients was 'anged afore you was born. Come on, I say. You ain't a coward, air you? If so, I'll 'and you over to Little Jim 'ere, an' stand by to see fair play!"