Then Hicks rose to his feet, and met the occasion face to face. “We’ll do this thing between us,” he said, “and damn everybody! I ain’t a man o’ business, not special, but I got you all into this ’ere mess an’ I’ll see you out of it, or I’ll bust. Fust thing, this ’ere Mr. Dunkin’s game’s plain enough. ’Ere’s a very decent business goin’ on, an’ ’e takes this excuse to collar it ’isself. You ain’t took the shutters down yet, an’ we won’t take ’em down. We’ll stick up a big bill ‘Business come to a end,’ or such other words, an’ let the customers go where they like an’ ’ope they won’t come back. Then p’raps ’e’ll come along in a day or two an’ offer to buy the stock, thinkin’ ’e’ll get it for next to nothin’, you bein’ all at sixes an’ sevens. We won’t sell it—not one farden candle. But we won’t say so. No. We’ll fight cokum. We’ll ask ’im to think over it for another day or two an’ see if ’e can’t make it a quid or two more. ’E’ll let it slide all the week if we do it right, expectin’ to land us at the last minute an’ make us take anythink. But we’ll just be walkin’ the stuff all away very quiet in the evenin’s, in a barrer, an’ then ’e’ll come into a empty shop unexpected, an’ ’e won’t know what the customers is used to, an’ that’ll give ’im fits for another week or two. See?” “But where shall we take the stuff?” “Take it? Lord, anywhere!” replied Hicks, with a sweep of the hand. “There’s plenty o’ empty shops ready to be took everywhere. Why the number I’ve seen these two or three days ’ud surprise ye! Some ain’t as good as others p’raps, but that we’ll settle in the week. It’s just beginnin’ again, that’s all, same as what ye did three or four year back! Lord, we’ll do it, I tell ye—do it flyin’!” Long Hicks waved his arms enthusiastically. “As to the—the ha’pence,” he went on, “p’raps your mother’s got some, p’raps she ain’t—don’t matter either way. I’m a single man, an’ bin in good work years, an’ I got a bit in the savin’s bank. All right! I ain’t goin’ to offer no favours, so don’t sing out! Sixpence in the pound’s all I get out o’ the Post Office, an’ that ain’t much. I’m open to make it a bit more—three per cent. if ye like—on loan; any security, or none—there’s plenty in the place in the Forest an’ the stock an’ all—’ave it yer own way. Business! ’Ard business! That’s all it is. An’ now we’ll clear decks. Fust, get your mother an’ sister out o’ this, somewhere out o’ Harbour Lane, where they ain’t known, an’ where they’ll quit frettin’.” “Where?” Hicks’s impetuosity left Johnny’s wits lagging.