“Don’t you talk to me,” roars Bill.  “If I choose to knock you about that’s my business, ain’t it?  Besides, you know very well.”

He wouldn’t let Peter say another word, but coming to a quiet place near the docks he stopped the cab and pulling ’im out gave ’im such a dressing down that Peter thought ’is last hour ’ad arrived.  He let ’im go at last, and after first making him pay the cab-man took ’im along till they came to a public-’ouse and made ’im pay for drinks.

They stayed there till nearly eleven o’clock, and then Bill set off home ‘olding the unfortunit Peter by the scruff o’ the neck, and wondering out loud whether ’e ought to pay ’im a bit more or not.  Afore ’e could make up ’is mind, however, he turned sleepy, and, throwing ’imself down on the bed which was meant for the two of ’em, fell into a peaceful sleep.

Sam and Ginger Dick came in a little while arterward, both badly marked where Bill ’ad hit them, and sat talking to Peter in whispers as to wot was to be done.  Ginger, who ’ad plenty of pluck, was for them all to set on to ’im, but Sam wouldn’t ’ear of it, and as for Peter he was so sore he could ’ardly move.

They all turned in to the other bed at last, ’arf afraid to move for fear of disturbing Bill, and when they woke up in the morning and see ’im sitting up in ’is bed they lay as still as mice.

“Why, Ginger, old chap,” ses Bill, with a ’earty smile, “wot are you all three in one bed for?” “We was a bit cold,” ses Ginger.

“Cold?” ses Bill.  “Wot, this weather?  We ’ad a bit of a spree last night, old man, didn’t we?  My throat’s as dry as a cinder.”

“It ain’t my idea of a spree,” ses Ginger, sitting up and looking at ’im.

“Good ’eavens, Ginger!” ses Bill, starting back, “wotever ’ave you been a-doing to your face?  Have you been tumbling off of a ’bus?”

Ginger couldn’t answer; and Sam Small and Peter sat up in bed alongside of ’im, and Bill, getting as far back on ’is bed as he could, sat staring at their pore faces as if ’e was having a ’orrible dream.

“And there’s Sam,” he ses.  “Where ever did you get that mouth, Sam?”

“Same place as Ginger got ’is eye and pore Peter got ’is face,” ses Sam, grinding his teeth.

“You don’t mean to tell me,” ses Bill, in a sad voice—­“you don’t mean to tell me that I did it?”

“You know well enough,” ses Ginger.

Bill looked at ’em, and ’is face got as long as a yard measure.

“I’d ’oped I’d growed out of it, mates,” he ses, at last, “but drink always takes me like that.  I can’t keep a pal.”

“You surprise me,” ses Ginger, sarcastic-like.  “Don’t talk like that, Ginger,” ses Bill, ’arf crying.

“It ain’t my fault; it’s my weakness.  Wot did I do it for?”

“I don’t know,” ses Ginger, “but you won’t get the chance of doing it agin, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I daresay I shall be better to-night, Ginger,” ses Bill, very humble; “it don’t always take me that way.