"With officers! Why?"
"Order yer about."
"How the devil would you know what to do if they didn't order you about?" demanded the General rapidly losing his temper.
"Don't 'old wiv the army," was the grumbled retort.
It is Ginger's method, when faced with an awkward question, to fall back upon his inner defences by announcing that he "don't 'old wiv" whatever it is under discussion.
"If you don't hold with the army, with officers, with wives and children, then what do you hold with?" demanded the General angrily.
"Beer," was the laconic response, uttered without the vestige of a smile.
Ginger personifies gloom. He would if he could snatch the sun's ray from a dewdrop, or the joyousness from a child's laugh. It is constitutional.
"Poor ole Ginger's 'appier when 'e's miserable," Bindle explained; "but 'e's a rare good sort at 'eart is Ging. 'E once bought a cock canary, wot the man told 'im would sing like a prize bird; but when the yaller comes orf an' there warn't no song, and the bird started a-layin' eggs, it sort o' broke poor ole Ging. up. 'E ain't never been the same man since, 'ave yer, ole sport?"
Ginger muttered something inaudible, the tone of which suggested blood.