He slipped the box in my coat-pocket, and then he said ’is mind was so relieved that ’e felt like ’arf a pint.  I was for going to the Bear’s Head, the place I generally go to, because it is next door to the wharf, so to speak, but George wanted me to try the beer at another place he knew of.

“The wharf’s all right,” he ses.  “There’s one or two ’ands on the ship, and they won’t let anybody run away with it.”

From wot he said I thought the pub was quite close, but instead o’ that I should think we walked pretty nearly a mile afore we got there.  Nice snug place it was, and the beer was all right, although, as I told George Tebb, it didn’t seem to me any better than the stuff at the Bear’s Head.

He stood me two ’arf-pints and was just going to order another, when ’e found ’e ’adn’t got any money left, and he wouldn’t hear of me paying for it, because ’e said it was his treat.

“We’ll ‘ave a quid out o’ the box,” he ses.  “I must ’ave one to go on with, anyway.”  I shook my ’ead at ’im.

“Only one,” he ses, “and that’ll last me a fortnight.  Besides, I want to give you the quid I promised you.”

I gave way at last, and he put his ’and in ’is trouser-pocket for the key, and then found it wasn’t there.

“I must ha’ left it in my chest,” he ses.  “I’ll ’op back and get it.”  And afore I could prevent ’im he ’ad waved his ’and at me and gorn.

My fust idea was to go arter ’im, but I knew I couldn’t catch ’im, and if I tried to meet ’im coming back I should most likely miss ’im through the side streets.  So I sat there with my pipe and waited.

I suppose I ’ad been sitting down waiting for him for about ten minutes, when a couple o’ sailormen came into the bar and began to make themselves a nuisance.  Big fat chaps they was, and both of ’em more than ’arf sprung.  And arter calling for a pint apiece they began to take a little notice of me.

“Where d’you come from?” ses one of ’em. “’Ome,” I ses, very quiet.

“It’s a good place—­’ome,” ses the chap, shaking his ’ead.  “Can you sing “Ome, Sweet ‘Ome’?  You seem to ’ave got wot I might call a ’singing face.’”

“Never mind about my face,” I ses, very sharp.  “You mind wot you’re doing with that beer.  You’ll ’ave it over in a minute.”

The words was ’ardly out of my mouth afore ’e gave a lurch and spilt his pint all over me.  From ’ead to foot I was dripping with beer, and I was in such a temper I wonder I didn’t murder ’im; but afore I could move they both pulled out their pocket-’ankerchers and started to rub me down.

“That’ll do,” I ses at last, arter they ’ad walked round me ’arf-a-dozen times and patted me all over to see if I was dry.  “You get off while you’re safe.”

“It was my mistake, mate,” ses the chap who ’ad spilt the beer.

“You get outside,” I ses.  “Go on, both of you, afore I put you out.”