I stopped a moment to listen to an argument on the Mile End Waste.

It was night-time, and they were all workmen of the better class.

They had surrounded one of their number, a pleasant-faced man of thirty, and were giving it to him rather heatedly.
"But 'ow about this 'ere cheap immigration ?" one of them demanded.

"The Jews of Whitechapel, say, a-cutting our throats right along ?" "You can't blame them," was the answer.

"They're just like us, and they've got to live.