A voice close beside me said, in a hoarse whisper, "What cheer, Turnip?
how do you like it ?" I looked round, and perceived that the speaker was the clay pipe, who happened to be close beside me as I lay.
I held my nose--so to speak (for watches are not supposed to be gifted with that organ)--the tobacco which was smouldering in him must have been a month old, while the pipe itself looked remarkably grimy and dirty.

However, thought I, there would be no use in being uncivil to my new comrades, unpleasant though they were, and I might as well make use of this pipe to assist me to certain information I was curious to get.
So I answered, "I don't like it at all.

Can you tell me where I am ?" "Where are you, Turnip?
Why, you're in young Cadger's pocket, to be sure; but you won't stay there long, no error." I secretly wished this objectionable pipe would not insist on addressing me as "Turnip," but on the whole the present did not seem exactly the time to stand on my dignity, so I replied,-- "Why, what's going to become of me ?" "What's going to become of you, Turnip! Why, you'll go to Cadger's uncle.

Won't he, mate ?" The mate addressed was the piece of string, who, I should say, was by no means the latest addition to the Cadger's collection of valuables.

He now grinned and wriggled in reply to the pipe's appeal, and snuffled,-- "That's right, mate; that's where he'll go.