_They hustle and crowd him. Re-enter_ BILL. THOMAS _makes a rush. They run. He seizes_ BILL. _They gather again_. _Tho._ Han yo getten a mother, lad? _Bill_. No, thank ye. 'Ain't got no mother. Come of a haunt, I do. _First Boy_. Game!--ain't he? _Tho._ Well, aw'll tak yo whoam to yor aunt--aw wull. _Bill_. Will you now, old chap? Wery well. (_Squats_.) _Tho._ (_holding him up by the collar, and shaking his stick over him_). Tell mo wheer's por aunt, or aw'll breyk every bone i' yor body. _Bill_ (_wriggling and howling and rubbing his eyes with alternate sleeves_). Let me go, I say. Let me go and I'll tell ye. I will indeed, sir. _Tho._ (_letting go_) Wheer then, mo lad? _Bill_ (_starting up_). I' the church-cellar, sir--first bin over the left--feeds musty, and smells strong. Ho! ho! ho! (_Takes a sight_.) THOMAS _makes a dart_. BILL _dodges him_. _First Boy_. Ain't he a cricket _now_, Tommy? _Second Boy_. Got one leg too many for a cricket, Sam. _Third Boy_. That's what he jerks hisself with, Tommy. _Tho._ Boys, I want to be freens wi' yo. Here's a penny. _One of the boys knocks it out of his hand. A scramble_. _Tho._ Now, boys, dun yo know wheer's a young woman bi th' name ov Mattie--somewheer abeawt Paradise Row? _First Boy_. Yes, old un. _Second Boy_. Lots on 'em. _Third Boy_. Which on em' do you want, Mr. Cricket? _Fourth Boy_. You ain't peticlar, I s'pose, old corner-bones? _First Boy_. Don't you fret, old stilts. We'll find you a Mattie. There's plenty on 'em--all nice gals. _Tho._ I want mo own Mattie. _First Boy_. Why, you'd never tell one from t'other on 'em! _Third Boy_. All on 'em wery glad to see old Daddy Longlegs! _Tho._ Oh dear! Oh dear! What an awful plaze this Lon'on do be! To see the childer so bad! _Second Boy_. Don't cry, gran'pa. _She'_d chaff you worser 'n us! We're only poor little innocent boys. We don't know nothink, bless you! Oh no! _First Boy_. You'd better let her alone, arter all, bag o' nails. _Second Boy_. She'll have it out on you now, for woppin' of her when she wor a kid. _First Boy_. She's a wopper herself now. _Third Boy_. Mighty fine, with your shirt for a great-coat. He! he! he! _Fourth Boy_. Mattie never kicks us poor innocent boys--cos we 'ain't got no mothers to take our parts. Boo hoo! _Enter_ JACK--_his hands in his pockets_. _Jack_. What's the row, Bill? _Bill_. Dunnow, Jack. Old chap collared me when I wasn't alludin' to him. He's after some Mattie or other. It can't be our Mattie. _She_ wouldn't never have such a blazin' old parient as that. _Jack_. Supposin' it was your Mattie, Bill, would you split, and let Scull-and-cross-bones nab her? _Bill_. Would I? Would I 'and over our Mattie to her natural enemy? Did you ax it, Jack? _Jack_. Natural enemy! My eye, Bill! what words you fakes!