The women were embarrassed, grudging the pennies, but afraid of being thought mean.
Mrs Yabsley broke the silence.
"I don't know wot ye're singin' about, an' I shouldn't like ter meet yer on a dark night, but I'm always willin' ter patronize the opera, as they say." She fumbled in her pocket till she found tuppence.

The sailor took the money, rolled his eyes, gave her a magnificent bow, and continued on his way with a fresh stanza: Lorsque nous allions tous deux Dans la verdoyante allee, Comme elle etait essoufflee, Et comme j'etais radieux.
"The more fool you," said Mrs Jones, who was ashamed of having nothing to give.

"I've 'eard 'e's got a terrace of 'ouses, an' thousands in the bank.

My cousin told me 'e sees 'im bankin' 'is money reg'lar in George Street every week." And then a conversation followed, with instances of immense fortunes made by organ-grinders, German bands, and street-singers--men who cadged in rags for a living, and could drive their carriage if they chose.

The women lent a greedy ear to these romances, like a page out of their favourite novelettes.