I have, at the risk of shocking the reader of delicate sensibilities, quoted at full the terms in which my ruffianly “casual” chamber-fellow delivered himself of his opinion as to the power of “cheek” illimitable, because from the same experienced source presently proceeded as handsome a tribute to the efficiency of the officers of the Mendicity Society as they could desire. “What shall you do with yerself to-morrow?” one asked of another, who, weary of song and anecdote and blasphemy, preparatory to curling down for the night was yawning curses on the parochial authorities for supplying him with no warmer rug. “It ain’t much you can do anyhows atween the time when you finish at the crank and go out, till when you wants to come in agin. It feels like frost; if it is, I shall do a bit of chanting, I think.” (“Chanting” is vagrant phraseology for street singing.) “I’m with you,” replied his friend; “unless it’s cold enough to work the shaller; that’s the best game. ’Taint no use, though, without its perishin’ cold; that’s the wust on it.” (It may be here mentioned that the “shaller,” or more properly “shallow” dodge, is for a beggar to make capital of his rags and a disgusting condition of semi-nudity; to expose his shoulders and his knees and his shirtless chest, pinched and blue with cold. A pouncing of the exposed parts with common powder-blue is found to heighten the frost-bitten effect, and to excite the compassion of the charitable.) “There you are wrong,” broke in the advocate of “cheek;” “that isn’t the wust of it. The wust of it is, that there’s no _best_ of it. It don’t matter what you try; all games is a-growing stale as last week’s tommy” (bread). “It’s ’cos people get so gallus ’ard-’arted, that’s wot it is,” remarked with a grin a young gentleman who shared the bed of the ‘cheeky’ one. “No, that ain’t it, either; people are as soft-’arted and as green as ever they was; and so they would shell-out like they used to do, only for them —” (something too dreadful for printing) “lurchers of the S’ciety. It’s all them. It ain’t the reg’lar p’lice. They’re above beggars, ’cept when they’re set on. It’s them Mendikent coves, wot gets their livin’ by pokin’ and pryin’ arter every cove like us whenever they sees him in the street. They gives the public the ‘office’” (information), “and the public believes ’em, bust ’em!” These observations evidently set the “cheeky” one thinking on times past; for he presently took up the subject again.