edge. He 'ad two or three more there, and then they began to see
that it was beginning to have an effect on 'im. The first one that
noticed it was Ginger Dick. Bill 'ad just lit 'is pipe, and as he threw
the match down he ses: "I don't like these 'ere safety matches," he ses.

"Don't you, Bill?" ses Ginger. "I do, rather."

"Oh, you do, do you?" ses Bill, turning on 'im like lightning; "well,
take that for contradictin'," he ses, an' he gave Ginger a smack that
nearly knocked his 'ead off.

It was so sudden that old Sam and Peter put their beer down and stared at
each other as if they couldn't believe their eyes. Then they stooped
down and helped pore Ginger on to 'is legs agin and began to brush 'im
down.

"Never mind about 'im, mates," ses Bill, looking at Ginger very wicked.
"P'r'aps he won't be so ready to give me 'is lip next time. Let's come
to another pub and enjoy ourselves."

Sam and Peter followed 'im out like lambs, 'ardly daring to look over
their shoulder at Ginger, who was staggering arter them some distance
behind a 'olding a handerchief to 'is face.

"It's your turn to pay, Sam," ses Bill, when they'd got inside the next
place. "Wot's it to be? Give it a name."

"Three 'arf pints o' four ale, miss," ses Sam, not because 'e was mean,
but because it wasn't 'is turn. "Three wot?" ses Bill, turning on 'im.

"Three pots o' six ale, miss," ses Sam, in a hurry.

"That wasn't wot you said afore," ses Bill. "Take that," he ses, giving
pore old Sam a wipe in the mouth and knocking 'im over a stool; "take
that for your sauce."

Peter Russet stood staring at Sam and wondering wot Bill ud be like when
he'd 'ad a little more. Sam picked hisself up arter a time and went
outside to talk to Ginger about it, and then Bill put 'is arm round
Peter's neck and began to cry a bit and say 'e was the only pal he'd got
left in the world. It was very awkward for Peter, and more awkward still
when the barman came up and told 'im to take Bill outside.

"Go on," he ses, "out with 'im."

"He's all right," ses Peter, trembling; "we's the truest-'arted gentleman
in London. Ain't you, Bill?"

Bill said he was, and 'e asked the barman to go and hide 'is face because
it reminded 'im of a little dog 'e had 'ad once wot 'ad died.

"You get outside afore you're hurt," ses the bar-man.

Bill punched at 'im over the bar, and not being able to reach 'im threw
Peter's pot o' beer at 'im. There was a fearful to-do t