This altercation had taken place as we swayed to and fro in the crowd, from which we now slowly won free, owing chiefly to the dexterous use of the man's bony elbows, until we presently found ourselves in a veritable jungle of carts and wagons of all kinds and sorts, where we stopped, facing each other. "I'm inclined to think, young cove, as you'd be short-tempered if you been shied at by your feller-man from your youth up," said the man. "What do you mean by 'shied at'?" "What I sez!—some perfessions is easy, and some is 'ard—like mine." "And what is yours?" "I'm a perfessional Sambo." "A what?" "Well—a 'Nigger-head' then,—blacks my face—sticks my 'ead through a 'ole, and lets 'em shy at me—three shies a penny—them as 'its me gets a cigar—a big 'un—them as don't—don't!" "Yours is a very unpleasant profession," said I. "A man must live!" "But," said I, "supposing you get hit?" "Them as 'its me gets a cigar!" "Doesn't it hurt you?" "Oh! you gets used to it—though, to be sure, they don't 'it me very often, or it would be a loss; cigars is expensive—leastways they costs money." "But surely a wooden image would serve your turn just as well." "A wooden image!" exclaimed the man disgustedly. "James!—you must be a fool, you must! Who wants to throw at a wooden image—you can't 'urt a wooden image, can you—if you throwed 'eavens 'ard at a wooden image that there wooden image wouldn't flinch, would it? When a man throws at anything 'e likes to 'it it—that's 'uman—and when 'e 'its it 'e likes to see it flinch—that's 'uman too, and when it flinches, why—'e rubs 'is 'ands, and takes another shot—and that's the 'umanest of all. So you see, young cove, you're a fool with your wooden image." Now, as he ended, I stooped, very suddenly, and caught hold of his wrist—and then I saw that he held my purse in his hand. It was a large hand with bony knuckles, and very long fingers, upon one of which was a battered ring. He attempted, at first, to free himself of my grip, but, finding this useless, stood glowering at me with one eye and leering with the other. "Ha!" said I. "Hallo!" said he. "A purse!" said I. "Why, so it is," he nodded; "leastways, it looks uncommonly like one, don't it?" "What's more, it looks like mine!" "Does it?" "I could swear to it anywhere." "Could you?" "I could." "Then p'r'aps you'd better take it, young cove, and very welcome, I'm sure." "So you've been picking my pocket!" said I. "Never picked a pocket in my life—should scorn to." I put away my recovered property, and straightway shifted my grip to the fellow's collar. "Now," said I, "come on." "Why, what are you a-doing of?" "What does one generally do with a pickpocket?"