“All right, Sam,” ses Ginger.  “You go in and win if you think you’re so precious clever.”

Old Sam said that that was wot ’e was going to do, and he spent so much time next morning making ’imself look pretty that the other two could ’ardly be civil to him.

He went off a’most direckly arter breakfast, and they didn’t see ’im agin till twelve o’clock that night.  He ‘ad brought a bottle o’ whisky in with ’im, and he was so ’appy that they see plain wot had ’appened.

“She said ‘yes’ at two o’clock in the arternoon,” ses old Sam, smiling, arter they had ’ad a glass apiece.  “I’d nearly done the trick at one o’clock, and then the shop-bell went, and I ’ad to begin all over agin.  Still, it wasn’t unpleasant.”

“Do you mean to tell us you’ve asked ’er to marry you?” ses Ginger, ’olding out ’is glass to be filled agin.

“I do,” ses Sam; “but I ’ope there’s no ill-feeling.  You never ’ad a chance, neither of you; she told me so.”

Ginger Dick and Peter Russet stared at each other.

“She said she ’ad been in love with me all along,” ses Sam, filling their glasses agin to cheer ’em up.  “We went out arter tea and bought the engagement-ring, and then she got somebody to mind the shop and we went to the Pagoda music-’all.”

“I ’ope you didn’t pay much for the ring, Sam,” ses Ginger, who always got very kind-’arted arter two or three glasses o’ whisky.  “If I’d known you was going to be in such a hurry I might ha’ told you before.”

“We ought to ha’ done,” ses Peter, shaking his ’ead.

“Told me?” ses Sam, staring at ’em.  “Told me wot?”

“Why me and Peter gave it up,” ses Ginger; “but, o’ course, p’r’aps you don’t mind.”

“Mind wot?” ses Sam.

“It’s wonderful ’ow quiet she kept it,” ses Peter.

Old Sam stared at ’em agin, and then he asked ’em to speak in plain English wot they’d got to say, and not to go taking away the character of a woman wot wasn’t there to speak up for herself.

“It’s nothing agin ’er character,” ses Ginger.  “It’s a credit to her, looked at properly,” ses Peter Russet.

“And Sam’ll ’ave the pleasure of bringing of ’em up,” ses Ginger.

“Bringing of ’em up?” ses Sam, in a trembling voice and turning pale; “bringing who up?”

“Why, ’er children,” ses Ginger.  “Didn’t she tell you?  She’s got nine of ’em.”

Sam pretended not to believe ’em at fust, and said they was jealous; but next day he crept down to the greengrocer’s shop in the same street, where Ginger had ’appened to buy some oranges one day, and found that it was only too true.  Nine children, the eldest of ’em only fifteen, was staying with diff’rent relations owing to scarlet-fever next door.

Old Sam crept back ’ome like a man in a dream, with a bag of oranges he didn’t want, and, arter making a present of the engagement-ring to Ginger—­if ’e could get it—­he took the fust train to Tilbury and signed on for a v’y’ge to China.