A CHILD OF THE JAGO
Weech's arms waved uselessly, and his feet feebly sought a hold on the floor.
"Now!" cried Josh Perrott, glaring on the writhen face below his own, and raising his case-knife in the manner of a cleaver, "sing a hymn! Sing the hymn as 'll do ye most good! You'll cheat me when ye can, an' when ye can't you'll put me five year in stir, eh? Sing a hymn, ye snivellin' nark!"
From the street there came the noise of many hurrying feet and of a scattered shouting. Josh Perrott made an offer at slashing the slaty face, checked his arm, and went on.
"You'll put down somethin' 'an'some at my break, will ye? An' you'll starve my wife an' kids all to bones an' teeth four year! Sing a hymn, ye cur!"
He made another feint at slashing. Men were beating thunderously at the shop door, and there were shrill whistles.
"Won't sing yer hymn? There ain't
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