So we goes in, and as it was cold we has two fours o' gin hot, with sugar, and as I was now up, I begins to tell him about what took place comin' to the station, and I says as I was a-goin' to take something to Number 99, King's Court, and see if all he'd said was true. "Here," says baker to the barman, "fill these here glasses again, Charles," and then turnin' to me, says he:-- "Governor, if I'd ha' known all this when that pore chap come in to my shop to-day I'd ha' give him a dozen loaves; I'm hanged if I wouldn't." Which was rather hot of him, yer know, sir, and I hope you'll excuse me a-sayin' it, but them was his very words, and if he didn't look as excited as if he didn't know what to do with hisself. "Tip that glass off, p'leeceman," he says, "and let's be off." "Well, good night," I says, "and if I was you, I don't think I should press the charge agin him to-morrow." "May I never rise another batch if I do," he says; "but come on." "Well, once more good night," I says. "Wait a bit," says he, "I'm goin' with you." "Are yer?" I says. "I just am," says he. "Then come on," says I; and away we went. On the way I gets a sixpenny Watling at a public, and then at a tater-can a dozen hot mealies, which I shoves in my coat pockets, and the pie in my hat; while the baker he slips into the fust shop we comes to, and picks out a couple of the best crusted cottages as he could find. Well, sir, we gets at last to Number 99, King's Court, and afore we goes in I says to the baker, says I-- "Now if this is a do, we'll just have a friendly supper off what we've bought, and a drop of hot." "Agreed," says life. And we went up the stairs, and knocked at the fust floor front. "Mrs Graham lodge here?" says I. "Three pair back," says the lodger, a-slamming the door in our faces. "You'd better go fust," says I to baker; "they don't like the looks o' my hat." That was afore we took to 'elmets, yer know, sir.