with anybody agin, unless it's another prize-fighter. Her pride won't
let her, I s'pose."

"Well, that's all right, Ginger," ses Sam; "all you've got to do is to go
and be a prize-fighter."

"If I 'ave any more o' your nonsense--" ses Ginger, starting up.

"That's right," ses Sam; "jump down anybody's throat when they're trying
to do you a kindness. That's you all over, Ginger, that is. Wot's to
prevent you telling 'er that you're a prize-fighter from Australia or
somewhere? She won't know no better."

He got up off the bed and put his 'ands up as Ginger walked across the
room to 'im, but Ginger on'y wanted to shake 'ands, and arter he 'ad done
that 'e patted 'im on the back and smiled at 'im.

"I'll try it," he ses. "I'd tell any lies for 'er sake. Ah! you don't
know wot love is, Sam."

"I used to," ses Sam, and then he sat down agin and began to tell 'em all
the love-affairs he could remember, until at last Peter Russet got tired
and said it was 'ard to believe, looking at 'im now, wot a perfick terror
he'd been with gals, and said that the face he'd got now was a judgment
on 'im. Sam shut up arter that, and got into trouble with Peter in the
middle o' the night by waking 'im up to tell 'im something that he 'ad
just thought of about his face.

The more Ginger thought o' Sam's idea the more he liked it, and the very
next evening 'e took Peter Russet into the private bar o' the Jolly