“It’s all right, missis,” ses Sam.  “It’s on’y pore Ginger.  You keep quiet,” he ses in a whisper, turning to Ginger.

“Wot’s he making that row about?” ses the landlady.  “He made my blood run cold.”

“He’s got a touch o’ toothache,” ses Sam.  “Never mind, Ginger,” ’e ses in a hurry, as the dog let off another ’owl; “try and bear it.”

“He’s a coward, that’s wot ’e is,” ses the landlady, very fierce.  “Why, a child o’ five wouldn’t make such a fuss.”

“Sounds more like a dog than a ’uman being,” ses another voice.  “You come outside, Ginger, and I’ll give you something to cry for.”

They waited a minute or two, and then, everything being quiet, they went back to bed, while old Sam talked to Ginger about wot ’e called ’is “presence o’ mind,” and Ginger talked to ’im about wot he’d do to ’im if ’e wasn’t a fat old man with one foot in the grave.

They was all in a better temper when they woke up in the morning, and while Sam was washing they talked about wot they was to do with the dog.

“We can’t lead ’im about all day,” ses Ginger; “and if we let ’im off the string he’ll go off ’ome.”

“He don’t know where his ’ome is,” ses Sam, very severe; “but he might run away, and then the pore thing might be starved or else ill-treated.  I ’ave ‘eard o’ boys tying tin cans to their tails.”

“I’ve done it myself,” ses Ginger, nodding.  “Consequently it’s our dooty to look arter ’im,” ses Sam.

“I’ll go down to the front door,” ses Peter, “and when I whistle, bring him down.”

Ginger stuck his ‘ead out o’ the window, and by and by, when Peter whistled, him and Sam took the dog downstairs and out into the street.

“So far so good,” ses Sam; “now, wot about brekfuss?”

They ’ad their brekfuss in their usual coffeeshop, and the dog took bits from all of them.  Unfortunately, ’e wasn’t used to haddick bones, and arter two of the customers ’ad gorn out and two more ’ad complained to the landlord, they ’ad to leave their brekfusses and take ’im outside for a breath o’ fresh air.

“Now, wot are we going to do?” ses Ginger.  “I’m beginning to be sick of the sight of ’im.  ’Ave we got to lead ‘im about all day on a bit o’ string?”

“Let’s take ’im round the corner and lose ’im,” ses Peter Russet.

“You give me ‘old o’ that string,” ses Sam.  “If you don’t want shares, that’s all right.  If I’m going to look arter ’im I’ll ’ave it all.”

That made Ginger and Peter look at each other.  Direckly Sam began to talk about money they began to think they might be losing something.

“And wot about ’aving ’im in our bedroom and keeping us awake all night?” ses Peter.

“And putting it on to me with the toothache,” ses Ginger.  “No; you can look arter ’im, Sam, while me and Peter goes off and enjoys ourselves; and if you get anything we go shares, mind.”