"If you are wise you will give them nothing."
"I don't intend to."
"Oh, you don't, don't you? Well, that's 'andsome! Now, supposing I
bash in your 'at?" All at once he made a fresh discovery. "If 'e ain't
smashed the blooming box!" He picked up from beside him the box which
Stacey-Lumpton had kicked against. "Smashed it right in--straight, 'e
'as! Well, there's a thing to do!" He thrust the box in question
between Stacey-Lumpton and myself. "Look 'ere there's bloaters in
that box." We did not need his word to make us conscious of that fact.
The perfume was enough. Stacey-Lumpton recognised that this was so
with, on his face, an expression of speechless horror. "You've busted
in the box and spiled the lot of 'em. Who's going to buy bruised
bloaters, I'd like to know? I don't mind my 'at so much, but when it
comes to bloaters--they're my living."