" ses Sam.

"Look 'ere; I took some drink to see what the flavor was like; suppose
you go to a music-'all to see wot that's like?"

"It seems on'y fair," ses Peter's uncle, considering.

"It is fair," ses Sam, and twenty minutes arterwards they was sitting in
a music-'all drinking each other's 'ealths and listening to the songs--
Mr. Goodman with a big cigar in 'is mouth and his 'at cocked over one
eye, and Sam beating time to the music with 'is pipe.

"'Ow do you like it?" he ses.

Mr. Goodman didn't answer 'im because 'e was joining in the chorus with
one side of 'is mouth and keeping 'is cigar alight with the other. He
just nodded at 'im; but 'e looked so 'appy that Sam felt it was a
pleasure to sit there and look at 'im.

"I wonder wot Peter and Ginger is doin'?" he ses, when the song was
finished.

"I don't know," ses Mr. Goodman, "and, wot's more, I don't care. If I'd
'ad any idea that Peter was like wot he is I should never 'ave wrote to
'im. I can't think 'ow you can stand 'im."

"He ain't so bad," ses Sam, wondering whether he ought to tell 'im 'arf
of wot Peter really was like.

"Bad!" ses Mr. Goodman. "I come up to London for a 'oliday--a change,
mind you--and I thought Peter and me was going to 'ave a good time.
Instead o' that, he goes about with a face as long as a fiddle. He don't
drink, 'e don't go to places of amusement--innercent places of amusement
--and 'is idea of enjoying life is to go walking about the streets and
drinking cups o' tea."

"We must try and alter 'im," ses Sam, arter doing a bit o' thinking.

"Certainly not," ses Mr. Goodman, laying his 'and on Sam's knee. "Far be
it from me to interfere with a feller-creature's ideas o' wot's right.
Besides, he might get writing to 'is sister agin, and she might tell my
wife."

"But Peter said she was dead," ses Sam, very puzzled.

"I married agin," ses Peter's uncle, in a whisper, 'cos people was
telling 'im to keep quiet, "a tartar--a perfect tartar. She's in a
'orsepittle at present, else I shouldn't be 'ere. And I shouldn't ha'
been able to come if I 'adn't found five pounds wot she'd hid in a
match-box up the chimbley."

"But wot'll you do when she finds it out?" ses Sam, opening 'is eyes.

"I'm going to 'ave the house cleaned and the chimbleys swept to welcome
her 'ome," ses Mr. Goodman, taking a sip o' whiskey. "It'll be a little
surprise for her."

They stayed till it was over, and on the bus he gave Sam some st