art on a man I
like to make a good job of it."

"Good job of it!" ses the other, starting. "Do you know who I am?"

"No, I don't," ses Ginger, "and, wot's more, I don't care."

"My name," ses the chap, speaking in a slow, careful voice, "is Bill
Lumm."

"Wot a 'orrid name!" ses Ginger.

"Otherwise known as the Wapping Basher," ses Bill, shoving 'is face into
Ginger's and glaring at 'im.

"Ho!" ses Ginger, sniffing, "a amatoor."

"_Amatoor?_" ses Bill, shouting.

"That's wot we should call you over in Australia," ses Ginger; "my name
is Dick Duster, likewise known as the Sydney Puncher. I've killed three
men in the ring and 'ave never 'ad a defeat."

"Well, put 'em up," ses Bill, doubling up 'is fists and shaping at 'im.

"Not in the street, I tell you," ses Ginger, still clinging tight to Miss
Tucker's arm. "I was fined five pounds the other day for punching a man
in the street, and the magistrate said it would be 'ard labour for me
next time. You find a nice, quiet spot for some arternoon, and I'll
knock your 'ead off with pleasure."

"I'd sooner 'ave it knocked off now," ses Bill; "I don't like waiting for
things."

"Thursday arternoon," ses Ginger, very firm; "there's one or two
gentlemen want to see a bit o' my work afore backing me, and we can
combine bisness with pleasure."

He walked off with Miss Tucker, leaving Bill Lumm standing on the
pavement scratching his 'ead and staring arter 'im as though 'e didn't
quite know wot to make of it. Bill stood there for pretty near five
minutes, and then arter asking Sam and Peter, who 'ad been standing by
listening, whether they wanted anything for themselves, walked off to ask
'is pals wot they knew about the Sydney Puncher.

Ginger Dick was so quiet and satisfied about the fight that old Sam and
Peter couldn't make 'im out at all. He wouldn't even practise punching
at a bolster that Peter rigged up for 'im, and when 'e got a message from
Bill Lumm naming a quiet place on the Lea Marshes he agreed to it as
comfortable as possible.

"Well, I must say, Ginger, that I like your pluck," ses Peter Russet.

"I always 'ave said that for Ginger; 'e's got pluck," ses Sam.

Ginger coughed and tried to smile at 'em in a superior sort o' way. "I
thought you'd got more sense," he ses, at last. "You don't think I'm
going, do you?"

"Wot?" ses old Sam, in a shocked voice.

"You're never going to back out of it, Ginger?" ses Peter.

"I am," ses Ginger.