"If you think I'm going to be smashed up by a
prize-fighter just to show my pluck you're mistook."

"You must go, Ginger," ses old Sam, very severe. "It's too late to back
out of it now. Think of the gal. Think of 'er feelings."

"For the sake of your good name," ses Peter.

"I should never speak to you agin, Ginger," ses old Sam, pursing up 'is
lips.

"Nor me neither," ses Peter Russet.

"To think of our Ginger being called a coward," ses old Sam, with a
shudder, "and afore a gal, too."

"The loveliest gal in Wapping," ses Peter.

"Look 'ere," ses Ginger, "you can shut up, both of you. I'm not going,
and that's the long and short of it. I don't mind an ordinary man, but I
draw the line at prize-fighters."

Old Sam sat down on the edge of 'is bed and looked the picture of
despair. "You must go, Ginger," he ses, "for my sake."

"Your sake?" ses Ginger, staring.

"I've got money on it," ses Sam, "so's Peter. If you don't turn up all
bets'll be off."

"Good job for you, too," ses Ginger. "If I did turn up you'd lose it, to
a dead certainty."

Old Sam coughed and looked at Peter, and Peter 'e coughed and looked at
Sam.

"You don't understand, Ginger," said Sam, in a soft voice; "it ain't
often a chap gets the chance o' making a bit o' money these 'ard times."

"So we've put all our money on Bill Lumm," ses Peter. "It's the safest
and easiest way o' making money I ever 'eard of. You see, we know you're
not a prize-fighter and the others don't."

Pore Ginger looked at 'em, and then 'e called 'em all the names he could
lay 'is tongue to, but, with the idea o' the money they was going make,
they didn't mind a bit. They let him 'ave 'is say, and that night they
brought 'ome two other sailormen wot 'ad bet agin Ginger to share their
room, and, though they 'ad bet agin 'im, they was so fond of 'im that it
was evident that they wasn't going to leave 'im till the fight was over.

Ginger gave up then, and at twelve o'clock next day they started off to
find the place. Mr. Webson, the landlord of the Jolly Pilots, a short,
fat man o' fifty, wot 'ad spoke to Ginger once or twice, went with 'em,
and all the way to the station he kept saying wot a jolly spot it was for
that sort o' thing. Perfickly private; nice soft green grass to be
knocked down on, and larks up in the air singing away as if they'd never
leave off.

They took the train to Homerton, and, being a slack time o' the day, the
porters was