They were all young--from eighteen to twenty-five--for the larrikin never grows old.

They leaned against the veranda posts, or squatted below the windows of the shop, which had been to let for months.
Here they met nightly, as men meet at their club--a terror to the neighbourhood.

Their chief diversion was to guy the pedestrians, leaping from insult to swift retaliation if one resented their foul comments.
"Garn!" one was saying, "I tell yer some 'orses know more'n a man.

I remember old Joe Riley goin' inter the stable one day to a brown mare as 'ad a derry on 'im 'cause 'e flogged 'er crool.

Well, wot does she do?
She squeezes 'im up agin the side o' the stable, an' nearly stiffens 'im afore 'e cud git out.