“Rather roughish sort of Johnnies, eh?” said the Englishman. “But we might go and see the dancing—no harm in that.”
Pinnock said he had to go back to his office; the globe-trotter didn’t care about going out at night; and the Bo’sun tried to laugh the thing off. “You don’t catch me going,” he said. “There’s nothing to be seen—just a lot of flash young rowdies dancing. You’ll gape at them, and they’ll gape at you, and you’ll feel rather a pair of fools, and you’ll come away. Better stop and have a rubber.”
“If you dance with any of their women, you get her particular fancy-man on to you, don’t you?” asked Gordon. “It’s years since I was at that sort of place myself.”
The Bo’sun, who knew nothing about it, assumed the Sir Oracle at once.
“I don’t suppose their women would dance with you if you paid ’em five shillings a step,” he said. “There’d certainly be a fight if they did. Are you fond of fighting, Carew?”
“Not a bit,” replied that worthy. “Never fight if you can help it. No chap with any sense ever does.”
“That’s like me,” said Gordon. “I’d sooner run a mile than fight, any time. I’m like a rat if I’m cornered, but it takes a man with a stockwhip to corner me. I never start fighting till I’m done running. But we needn’t get into a row. I vote we go. Will you come, Carew?”
“Oh, yes; I’d like to,” said the Englishman. “I don’t suppose we need get into a fight.”
So, after many jeers from the Bo’sun, and promises to come back and tell him all about it, Carew and Gordon sallied forth, a pair of men as capable of looking after themselves as one would meet in a day’s march. Stepping into the street they called a cab.
“Nearest dancing saloon,” said Gordon, briefly.
“Nearest darncin’ saloon,” said the cabman. “There ain’t no parties to-night, sir; it’s too ’ot.”
“We’re not expecting to drop into a ballroom without being asked, thank you,” said Gordon. “We want to go to one of those saloons where you pay a shilling to go in. Some place where the larrikins go.”
“Ho! is that it, sir?” said the cabman, with a grin. “Well, I’ll take you to a noo place, most selectest place I know. Git up, ’orse.” And off they rattled through the quiet streets, turning corners and crossing tramlines every fifty yards apparently, and bumping against each other in the most fraternal manner.