Page:A Child of the Jago - Arthur Morrison.djvu/21

 left, an' no lights. D' y' 'ear, me lord"—leaning toward the dozing neighbour—"got a match?"

"Go t' 'ell!"

"O, wot 'orrid langwidge! It's shockin', blimy. Arter that y' ought to find me a match. Come on."

"Go t' 'ell!"

A lank, elderly man, who sat with his back to the wall, pushed up a battered tall hat from his eyes, and, producing a box of matches, exclaimed "Hell? And how far's that? You're in it!" He flung abroad a bony hand, and glanced upward. Over his forehead a greasy black curl dangled and shook, as he shuddered back against the wall. "My God, there can be no hell after this!"

"Ah," Kiddo Cook remarked, as he lit his pipe in the hollow of his hands, "that's a comfort, Mr. Beveridge, any 'ow." He returned the matches, and the old man, tilting his hat forward, was silent.