“I like ’em,” ses Ginger.

“You look as if you would,” ses the gal, giving ’im a little look under ’er eyelashes.  “It must be nice to be a man and be brave.  I wish I was a man.”

“I don’t,” ses Ginger.

“Why not?” ses the gal, turning her ’ead away agin.

Ginger didn’t answer, he gave ’er elbow a little squeeze instead.  She took it away at once, and Ginger was just wishing he ’adn’t been so foolish, when it came back agin, and they sat for a long time without speaking a word.

“The sea is all right for some things,” ses Ginger at last, “but suppose a man married!”

The gal shook her ’ead.  “It would be hard on ’is wife,” she ses, with another little look at ’im, “but—­but——­”

Ginger pinched ’er elbow agin.

“But p’r’aps he could get a job ashore,” she ses, “and then he could take his wife out for a bus-ride every day.”

They ’ad to change buses arter a time, and they got on a wrong bus and went miles out o’ their way, but neither of ’em seemed to mind.  Ginger said he was thinking of something else, and the gal said she was too.  They got to the Zoological Gardens at last, and Ginger said he ’ad never enjoyed himself so much.  When the lions roared she squeezed his arm, and when they ’ad an elephant ride she was holding on to ’im with both ’ands.

“I am enjoying myself,” she ses, as Ginger ’elped her down and said “whoa” to the elephant.  “I know it’s wicked, but I can’t ’elp it, and wot’s more, I’m afraid I don’t want to ’elp it.”

She let Ginger take ’er arm when she nearly tripped up over a peppermint ball some kid ’ad dropped; and, arter a little persuasion, she ’ad a bottle of lemonade and six bath-buns at a refreshment stall for dinner.

She was as nice as she could be to him, but by the time they started for ’ome, she ’ad turned so quiet that Ginger began to think ’e must ’ave offended ’er in some way.

“Are you tired?” he ses.

“No,” ses the gal, shaking her ’ead, “I’ve enjoyed myself very much.”

“I thought you seemed a bit tired,” ses Ginger, arter waiting a long time.

“I’m not tired,” ses the gal, giving ‘im a sad sort o’ little smile, “but I’m a little bit worried, that’s all.”

“Worried?” ses Ginger, very tender.  “Wot’s worrying you?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you,” ses Miss Gill.  “It doesn’t matter; I’ll try and cheer up.  Wot a lovely day it is, isn’t it?  I shall remember it all my life.”

“Wot is it worrying you?” ses Ginger, in a determined voice.  “Can’t you tell me?”

“No,” ses the gal, shaking her ’ead, “I can’t tell you because you might want to ’elp me, and I couldn’t allow that.”

“Why shouldn’t I ’elp you?” ses Ginger.  “It’s wot we was put ’ere for:  to ’elp one another.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” ses the gal, just dabbing at’er eyes—­with a lace pocket-’ankercher about one and a ’arf times the size of ’er nose.