Let's go 'ome.

You don't want to stop 'ere all night, do you ?' By this time Alf had arrived at the door of the back of the bar.

He was a burly young man about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age.
'Put it outside,' growled the landlord, indicating the culprit.
The barman instantly vaulted over the counter, and, having opened wide the door leading into the street, he turned to the half-drunken man and, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door, said: 'Are yer goin' ?' 'I'm goin' to 'ave 'arf a pint along of this genelman first--' 'Yes.

It's all right,' said Philpot to the landlord.

'Let's 'ave two 'arf-pints, and say no more about it.' 'You mind your own business,' shouted the landlord, turning savagely on him.