The Turtle

Dodgy handed Jimmy an ale. “There’s a job for you.”
Jim smiled. Dodgy hoped beer would muster his aggression, but he doubted it. If it weren’t for the grime, he’d look like a ruddy choirboy. Still, his choice, we all have to earn our money where we can. Half an hour later and a greater commotion disturbed the bustling street. The tide of people separated as Father Dolling propelled two boys, held either side of his cassock, by their ears, to his gymnasium. If they wanted to fight, they would play by Queensberry rules, in a ring, and with gloves.
“A quid on Eddie,” Sam said.
Ted ran the book. Dodgy bet a guinea. Charlie backed Jimmy-he was hungry. The regulars backed their chosen boys. The mob deserted The Turtle for the gymnasium.
Ted looked at his empty pub. “Great.”
Charlie didn’t win. He lost his takings to the hat passed a whip-round by Father Dolling for the gymnasium’s benefit. Jimmy had a bloody nose and a black eye. The mob carried him above their heads to The Turtle. By the evening, his eye had closed, his nose swollen, and he was drunk. But he had 2/6 in his pocket. He was on his way.