The butcher's flare of lights shone with a desolate air on piles of bones and scraps of meat--the debris of battle.

The greengrocer's was stripped bare to the shelves, as if an army of locusts had marched through with ravenous tooth.
"Comin' down the street ?" asked Chook, feeling absently in his pockets.
"No," said Jonah.
"W'y, wot's up now ?" inquired Chook in surprise.
"Oh, nuthin'; but I'm goin' ter sleep at Ada's tonight," replied Jonah, staring at the shops.
"'Strewth!" cried Chook, looking at him in wonder.

"Wot's the game now ?" "Oh! the old woman wants me ter put in the night there.

Says some blokes 'ave bin after 'er fowls," replied Jonah, hesitating like a boy inventing an excuse.
"Fowls!" cried Chook, with infinite scorn.

"Wants yer to nuss the bloomin' kid." "My oath, she don't," replied Jonah, with great heartiness.
"Well, gimme a smoke," said Chook, feeling again in his pockets.
Jonah took out a packet of cigarettes, counted how many were left, and gave him one.
"Kin yer spare it ?" asked Chook, derisively.