In a Victorian mood

So qbear and I are walking down the sidewalk to the bus stop this morning, and I find myself on Jack’s left, walking closest to the street.

“Oh no!” Jack says. “Your garments will be splattered by passing carriages!”

So I cross over and walk on his right, closest to the houses lining the street.

“Now you’ll be pelted,” he says, “with slops throw out of windows by fishwives!”

“So what am I supposed to do?” I ask.

“You have to decide!” Jack says, “It’s slops … or clops!”

He hastily adds, “You know, clops, from passing horses … clippy clop, clippy clop.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“My rhymes,” he responds proudly, “can’t all be gems.”