shade, so she says to the Alleys, 'Sun or blazes, the choice is wi' you, mates,' an' the Alleys says, 'Blazes it is, ole sport,' an' starts a-firin' back, an' that's 'ow it all come about."
"Why don't they arbitrate?" enquired the little man with the grey whiskers.
Bindle looked at him pitifully. "Cave, yer surprise me. If 'Uggles 'ere wanted your trousers and started a-pullin' away at the legs, would yer say, 'We'll arbitrate'? No, yer'd fetch 'im one on the jaw."
"Wot's arbitration?" demanded Ruddy Bill.
"Arbitration, Sweet William, is somethin' you're always advisin' other people to do, but never does yerself . Now, if you an' Ginger both wanted to stand me my next pint, an' was goin' to fight about it, someone might say 'arbitrate'—that is to say, let another cove decide wot 'adn't no interest in the matter, an' p'r'aps he'd get the beer."
"Then why don't they arbitrate instead of blowin' each other to bits?" demanded a whiskered man known as Ted.
"Because war comes about by someone wantin' wot ain't 'is," replied Bindle oracularly. "Wot 'ud you say if I said I wanted yer watch?"
"I'd see yer to blinkin' nowhere, fust," was the reply.
"Well, that's jest wot the gents say wot we
