"You've no licence, you young beggar!" And: "Your licence, you scoundrel!" demanded the leader of the troop.
The prisoner's rejoinder was a saucy: "Now then, out with the cuffs, Joe!" He got on his feet as bidden; but awkwardly, for it appeared that in falling he had hurt his ankle.

Behind the police were massed the diggers.

These opened a narrow alley for the Camp officials to ride through, but their attitude was hostile, and there were cries of: "Leave 'im go, yer blackguards! ...

after sich a run! None o yer bloody quod for 'im!" along with other, more threatening expressions.

Sombre and taciturn, the Commissioner waved his hand.