"I'm always thinkin of her," grinned Lash. "You mightn't believe it, Cocky, but it's because I'm trying to find her equal I goes huntin' the way I do. Come along, then." Cocky was happy enough where he was. Put him in front of a frothing schooner or a newly-opened bottle and he wouldn't have owned the Empress of China as his aunt. This was the atmosphere he loved; an atmosphere compounded of choking tobacco-smoke and liquor-fumes and exotic scents that dropped from the easy-mannered dancing girls. There was the music of the raw jungle type that inflames men's passions; and presently Cocky would be mellowed and made massive by beer to the extent of performing a solo on his concertina and, perhaps, giving an exhibition dance, which would result in much free refreshment. Furthermore the spotlight of public favour would be trained on Cocky; and his unfortunate inferiority complex would be lulled to rest. Sheltered under the compelling shadow of Lash, Cocky seldom had a look-in: he was one of the crowd ambitioning to be a star.
Realizing the futility of argument, he followed his captain out into the boiling streets. "There'll be trouble come of it; mark my words, there'll be trouble," he bewailed.
"If I can find it, yes," growled Lash. "How you does it, I can't tell - women fair go crazy if you so much as give 'em a once-over!" "It's a gift," said Lash simply; "same as music or po'try. First the wenches, then the likker, then the scrappin' - then I'm happy. Hi, pipe the lass across the street."
She was a handsome girl enough, with a winning smile. Her summer frock was dainty and to the eyes of Lash she showed a tempting morsel."
It's so bad.
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