'I ain't the man to spoil a bit of sport.
'Ere's the rig, guv'nor.' I stuck on his flat blue hat and his white overall, picked up the cans, banged my door, and went whistling downstairs.

The porter at the foot told me to shut my jaw, which sounded as if my make-up was adequate.
At first I thought there was nobody in the street.

Then I caught sight of a policeman a hundred yards down, and a loafer shuffling past on the other side.

Some impulse made me raise my eyes to the house opposite, and there at a first-floor window was a face.

As the loafer passed he looked up, and I fancied a signal was exchanged.
I crossed the street, whistling gaily and imitating the jaunty swing of the milkman.