“He is in love,” ses Ginger, as soon as he could speak.

“Or else ’e’s gorn mad,” ses Peter, watching ’im.  “Which is it, Sam?”

Sam made believe that he couldn’t answer ‘im because o’ the tooth-brush, and arter he’d finished he ’ad such a raging toothache that ’e sat in a corner holding ‘is face and looking the pictur’ o’ misery.  They couldn’t get a word out of him till they asked ’im to go out with them, and then he said ’e was going to bed.  Twenty minutes arterwards, when Ginger Dick stepped back for ’is pipe, he found he ’ad gorn.

He tried the same game next night, but the other two wouldn’t ’ave it, and they stayed in so long that at last ’e lost ’is temper, and, arter wondering wot Ginger’s father and mother could ha’ been a-thinking about, and saying that he believed Peter Russet ’ad been changed at birth for a sea-sick monkey, he put on ’is cap and went out.  Both of ’em follered ’im sharp, but when he led ’em to a mission-hall, and actually went inside, they left ’im and went off on their own.

They talked it over that night between themselves, and next evening they went out fust and hid themselves round the corner.  Ten minutes arterwards old Sam came out, walking as though ’e was going to catch a train; and smiling to think ’ow he ’ad shaken them off.  At the corner of Commercial Road he stopped and bought ’imself a button-hole for ’is coat, and Ginger was so surprised that ’e pinched Peter Russet to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

Old Sam walked straight on whistling, and every now and then looking down at ’is button-hole, until by-and-by he turned down a street on the right and went into a little shop.  Ginger Dick and Peter waited for ’im at the corner, but he was inside for so long that at last they got tired o’ waiting and crept up and peeped through the winder.

It was a little tobacconist’s shop, with newspapers and penny toys and such-like; but, as far as Ginger could see through two rows o’ pipes and the Police News, it was empty.  They stood there with their noses pressed against the glass for some time, wondering wot had ’appened to Sam, but by-and-by a little boy went in and then they began to ’ave an idea wot Sam’s little game was.

As the shop-bell went the door of a little parlour at the back of the shop opened, and a stout and uncommon good-looking woman of about forty came out.  Her ‘ead pushed the Police News out o’ the way and her ’and came groping into the winder arter a toy.

Ginger ’ad a good look at ‘er out o’ the corner of one eye, while he pretended to be looking at a tobacco-jar with the other.  As the little boy came out ’im and Peter Russet went in.

“I want a pipe, please,” he ses, smiling at ‘er; “a clay pipe—­one o’ your best.”  The woman handed ’im down a box to choose from, and just then Peter, wot ’ad been staring in at the arf-open door at a boot wot wanted lacing up, gave a big start and ses, “Why!  Halloa!”