"Oh, that was a great night, sor," he rattles on. "Ye ought to 'a' seen
him when I picked him up. he looked as if they'd been a-swobbin' the
cobbles wid him. 'Oh, me son! me son! it's kilt ye are!' she hollered
out, clawin' him wid both hands, and up they hauled him all over them
satin dresses! And where do ye think I took 'em, sor? To Hanover Square,
or out by St. James Park? No, sor, not a bit of it! Down in an alley in
Whitechapel, sor, that ye'd be afraid to walk through after sundown, and
into a shop wid three balls over it. What do ye think o' that, sor?"
Or he launches forth into an account of how he helped to rescue a
woman's child from the clutches of her brutal husband; and of the race
out King's Road followed by the husband in a hansom, and of the watchful
bobbie who, to relieve a threatened block in the street, held up the
pursuing hansom at the critical moment, thus saving the escaping child,
half-smothered in a blanket, tight locked in its mother's arms, and
earning for Fin the biggest fare he ever got in his life.
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