“That’s my gyme all right, guv’nor!” struck in Dollops shrilly, clapping his tankard down upon the bar with a loud bang.  “Close as ’ouses we are, guv’nor.  An’ me mate’s like a hoyster.”

“Well, mind you remember it!” retorted Borkins sharply.  “Or it’ll go badly with the pair of you.  That’s fixed, then, ain’t it?  What’s yer names again?  I’ve forgotten.”

“Bill Jones, an’ ’im’s Sammie Robinson,” replied Cleek quickly.  “I’m much obliged to yer, sir.  Any one know where we kin get a shake-down for the night?  Time enough ter look for lodgin’s termorrer.”

It was the barmaid’s turn to speak, and she rested her rather heavy person against the bar and touched Cleek’s shoulder.

“Mother, she ’as lodgers, dearie,” she said in a coaxing voice.  “You kin come along to us, and stay right along, if you’re comfortable.  Nice beds we ’ave, and a good ’ot dinner in the middle uv the day.  You kin take yer breakfast with us.  Better come along to ’er ternight.”

“Thanks, I will,” grunted Cleek in reply, and dug Dollops in the ribs, just to show him how pleased he was with the arrangement.

And so the evening passed.  The lodgings were taken, the charge being moderate for the kind of living that men in their walk of life were used to, and the next morning found them both ensconced at their new work.

The overseer proved to be a big, burly man, who, having received the message from “the gentleman at the inn,” immediately set them to work on the machinery.  The task was simple; they had merely to feed the machine with so much raw material, and the other men and machines did the rest.  But what pleased them more, they were put to work side by side.  This gave Cleek a good opportunity of passing remarks now and then to Dollops and telling him to take note of things.

The factory was a smallish place, with not too large a payroll, and Cleek gleaned from that first morning’s work that it was run solely for the purpose of making electrical fittings.

“Where do they ship ’em to, matey?” he asked his next-door neighbour, a pleasant-faced chap about twenty-three or four.

“Over ter Belgium.  Big firm there what buys from the master.”

“Oh?” So they were trading with Belgium, were they?  That was interesting.  “Well, then, ’ow the dickens do they send ’em out?”

“Boats, idiot!” The man’s voice was full of contempt for the nincompoop who couldn’t use his head.  Above the clang of the machinery Cleek’s voice rose a trifle higher.

“Well, any fellow would know that!” he said with a laugh.  “But what I means is, what sort er boats?  Big uns, I should sy, fer stuff like this.”

The man looked about him and bent his head.  His voice dropped a note or two.

“Fishin’ boats,” he said softly, and could be made to say no more, in spite of the scornful laugh with which Cleek greeted this news.