And then when I'd sold my barrowful, I was a-goin' 'ome with the chink in my pocket, and I'm blowed if some bloomin' thievin' beggar didn't nick the lot whilst I was just a-wettin' of my whistle, for callin' of oranges is dry work.

Nicked the bloomin' lot 'e did--and me with not a farden to take 'ome to my brother and his missus.' 'How awful!' said Anthea, with much sympathy.
'Horful indeed, miss, I believe yer,' the burglar rejoined, with deep feeling.

'You don't know her temper when she's roused.

An' I'm sure I 'ope you never may, neither.

And I'd 'ad all my oranges off of 'em.
So it came back to me what was wrote on the ongverlope, and I says to myself, "Why not, seein' as I've been done myself, and if they keeps two slaveys there must be some pickings ?" An' so 'ere I am.