A little stir
of interest went round the crowded, smoky room and someone called out:
"Lunnon, 'ave yer? Bin walkin' a bit, matey. Wot brought yer dahn 'ere?
An' what're sailor men doin' in Lunnon, any'ow?"
"Wot most folks is doin' nowadays--lookin for a job!" replied Cleek, as
he gulped down the second tankard and pushed it forward again to be
replenished. "Come from Southampton, we 'ave. Got a parss up to Lunnon,
'cause a pal told us there'd be work at the factories. But there weren't
no work. Gawd's truf! What're sailormen wantin' wi' clorth-makin' and
'ammering' tin-pots? Them's the only jobs we wuz offered in Lunnon. I
don't give a curse for the plyce.... No, Sammy an' me we says to each
other"--he took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand--"we says this ain't no plyce for us. We'd just come over frum
Jamaica--"
"Go on! Travellin' in furrin parts was you!" this in admiration from the
barmaid.
"--and we ain't seein' oursel's turning inter land-lubbers in no
sich spot as that. Pal told us there was a 'arbour down 'ere abahts,
wiv a factory wot a sailorman might git work at an' still 'old 'is
self-respec'.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211