It wasn't pretty.

Pigs couldn't have done worse.
But the poor devils were hungry, and they ate ravenously of the swill, and when they could eat no more they bundled what was left into their handkerchiefs and thrust it inside their shirts.
"Once, w'en I was 'ere before, wot did I find out there but a 'ole lot of pork-ribs," said Ginger to me.

By "out there" he meant the place where the corruption was dumped and sprinkled with strong disinfectant.

"They was a prime lot, no end o' meat on 'em, an' I 'ad 'em into my arms an' was out the gate an' down the street, a-lookin' for some 'un to gi' 'em to.

Couldn't see a soul, an' I was runnin' 'round clean crazy, the bloke runnin' after me an' thinkin' I was 'slingin' my 'ook' [running away].
But jest before 'e got me, I got a ole woman an' poked 'em into 'er apron." O Charity, O Philanthropy, descend to the spike and take a lesson from Ginger.