A CHILD OF THE JAGO
This man must be a greenhorn—new to the neighborhood—to venture a load of goods up Luck Row. And it was tobacco, too. He was pale and flustered, and he called wildly, as he looked this way and that: "A man's stole somethin' auf my van. Where's 'e gawn?"
"No good, guv'nor," cried one. "The ball's stopped rollin'. You've lawst 'im."
"My Gawd!" said the man, in a sweat, "I'm done. There's two quid's worth o' bacca—an' I on'y got the job o' Monday—bin out nine munse!"
"Was it a parcel like this 'ere?" asked another, chuckling, and lifting a second packet over the tailboard.
"Yus—put it down! Gawd—wotcher up to? 'Ere—'elp! 'elp!"
The gang were over the van, guffawing and flinging out the load. The carman yelled aloud, and fought desperately with his whip—Bill Hanks is near blind of an eye now from one cut: but he was the
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