A CHILD OF THE JAGO
Josh, twenty yards from Mr. Weech's door, with the watch and chain in his pocket, was tapped on the arm by a constable in plain clothes, while another came up on the other side. "Mornin', Perrott," said the first constable, cheerily. "We've got a little business with you at the station."
"Me? Wot for?"
"O, well, come along; p'r'aps it ain't anything—unless there 's a gold watch an' chain on you, from Highbury. It's just a turnin' over."
"Awright," replied Josh, resignedly. "It's a fair cop. I'll go quiet."
"That's right, Perrott; it ain't no good playin' the fool, you know." They were moving along; and as they came by Weech's shop, a whiskered face, with a patch of shining scalp over it, peeped from behind a curtain that hung at the rear of the bloaters and plumcake in the window. As he saw it. Josh ducked suddenly,
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