The gal seemed to change toward Ginger all in a flash, and ’er beautiful black eyes looked at ’im so admiring that he felt quite faint.  She started talking to ’im about his fights at once, and when at last ’e plucked up courage to ask ’er to go for a walk with ’im on Sunday arternoon she seemed quite delighted.

“It’ll be a nice change for me,” she ses, smiling.  “I used to walk out with a prize-fighter once before, and since I gave ’im up I began to think I was never going to ’ave a young man agin.  You can’t think ’ow dull it’s been.”

“Must ha’ been,” ses Ginger.

“I s’pose you’ve got a taste for prize-fighters, miss,” ses Peter Russet.

“No,” ses Miss Tucker; “I don’t think that it’s that exactly, but, you see, I couldn’t ’ave anybody else.  Not for their own sakes.”

[Illustration:  “Miss Tucker.”]

“Why not?” ses Ginger, looking puzzled.

“Why not?” ses Miss Tucker.  “Why, because o’ Bill.  He’s such a ’orrid jealous disposition.  After I gave ’im up I walked out with a young fellow named Smith; fine, big, strapping chap ’e was, too, and I never saw such a change in any man as there was in ’im after Bill ’ad done with ’im.  I couldn’t believe it was ’im.  I told Bill he ought to be ashamed of ’imself.”

“Wot did ’e say?” asks Ginger.

“Don’t ask me wot ’e said,” ses Miss Tucker, tossing her ’ead.  “Not liking to be beat, I ’ad one more try with a young fellow named Charlie Webb.”

“Wot ’appened to ’im?” ses Peter Russet, arter waiting a bit for ’er to finish.

“I can’t bear to talk of it,” ses Miss Tucker, holding up Ginger’s glass and giving the counter a wipe down.  “He met Bill, and I saw ’im six weeks afterward just as ’e was being sent away from the ’ospital to a seaside home.  Bill disappeared after that.”

“Has he gone far away?” ses Ginger, trying to speak in a off-’and way.

“Oh, he’s back now,” ses Miss Tucker.  “You’ll see ’im fast enough, and, wotever you do, don’t let ’im know you’re a prize-fighter.”

“Why not?” ses pore Ginger.

“Because o’ the surprise it’ll be to ’im,” ses Miss Tucker.  “Let ’im rush on to ’is doom.  He’ll get a lesson ’e don’t expect, the bully.  Don’t be afraid of ’urting ‘im.  Think o’ pore Smith and Charlie Webb.”

“I am thinkin’ of ’em,” ses Ginger, slow-like.  “Is—­is Bill—­very quick —­with his ’ands?”

“Rather,” ses Miss Tucker; “but o’ course he ain’t up to your mark; he’s on’y known in these parts.”

She went off to serve a customer, and Ginger Dick tried to catch Peter’s eye, but couldn’t, and when Miss Tucker came back he said ’e must be going.

“Sunday afternoon at a quarter past three sharp, outside ’ere,” she ses.  “Never mind about putting on your best clothes, because Bill is sure to be hanging about.  I’ll take care o’ that.”

She reached over the bar and shook ’ands with ’im, and Ginger felt a thrill go up ’is arm which lasted ’im all the way ’ome.