I went out arter a bit, as far as the Clarendon Arms, for a breath of fresh air, and I ’ad just finished a pint and was wondering whether I ought to ’ave another, when Ted Dennis came in, and my mind was made up.  He ’ad been in the Army all ’is life, and, so far, he ’ad never seen anything that ’ad frightened ’im.  I’ve seen him myself take on men twice ’is size just for the love of the thing, and, arter knocking them silly, stand ’em a pint out of ’is own pocket.  When I asked ’im whether he was afraid of ghosts he laughed so ’ard that the landlord came from the other end of the bar to see wot was the matter.

I stood Ted a pint, and arter he ’ad finished it I told ’im just how things was.  I didn’t say anything about the watch and chain, because there was no need to, and when we came outside agin I ’ad engaged an assistant-watchman for ninepence a night.

“All you’ve got to do,” I ses, “is to keep me company.  You needn’t turn up till eight o’clock of a night, and you can leave ’arf an hour afore me in the morning.”

“Right-o!” ses Ted.  “And if I see the ghost I’ll make it wish it ’ad never been born.”

It was a load off my mind, and I went ’ome and ate a tea that made my missis talk about the work-’ouse, and orstritches in ’uman shape wot would eat a woman out of ’ouse and ’ome if she would let ’em.

I got to the wharf just as it was striking six, and at a quarter to seven the wicket was pushed open gentle and the ugly ’ead of Mr. Joe Peel was shoved inside.

“Hullo!” I ses.  “Wot do you want?”

“I want to save your life,” he ses, in a solemn voice.  “You was within a inch of death last night, watchman.”

“Oh!” I ses, careless-like. “’Ow do you know!”

“The ghost o’ Sam Bullet told me,” ses Joe.  “Arter it ’ad chased you up the wharf screaming for ’elp, it came round and told me all about it.”

“It seems fond of you,” I ses.  “I wonder why?”

“It was in a terrible temper,” ses Joe, “and its face was awful to look at.  ‘Tell the watchman,’ it ses, ’that if he don’t give you the watch and chain I shall appear to ’im agin and kill ‘im.’”

“All right,” I ses, looking behind me to where three of the ’ands of the Daisy was sitting on the fo’c’sle smoking.  “I’ve got plenty of company to-night.”

“Company won’t save you,” ses Joe.  “For the last time, are you going to give me that watch and chain, or not?  Here’s your fifteen bob.”

“No,” I ses; “even if I ’ad got it I shouldn’t give it to you; and it’s no use giving’ it to the ghost, because, being made of air, he ’asn’t got anywhere to put it.”

“Very good,” ses Joe, giving me a black look.  “I’ve done all I can to save you, but if you won’t listen to sense, you won’t.  You’ll see Sam Bullet agin, and you’ll not on’y lose the watch and chain but your life as well.”

“All right,” I ses, “and thank you kindly, but I’ve got an assistant, as it ’appens—­a man wot wants to see a ghost.”