One less than Ginger would have waited for the situation to evolve. He would have been modestly content for the famous and redoubtable Dinkie Dawson, already an idol of the public and the press, to confer notice upon those whose reputations were in the womb of time. But that was not Ginger's way.
"Come on, Sailor boy, I'll introjuice yer. But mind—Cucumber. And leave the lip ter me."
The Sailor didn't feel like being introduced to anybody just then, certainly not to Dinkie Dawson, or the Prince of Wales, or Lord Salisbury, or anyone of equal eminence. In spite of new clothes and a Gladstone bag, he knew his limit. But the relentless Force to the wheel of whose chariot he was tied, the amazing Ginger, sauntered up to the beer engine and struck Dinkie Dawson a blow on the shoulder.
"Hullo, Ginge," said the great man. Moreover he spoke with the large geniality of one who has really arrived.
"Hullo, Dink." Cucumber was not the word for Ginger. "Where are ye playin'?"
"At Durbee agen the Countee."
"Mind yer put it acrost 'em," said Ginger, in the ready and agreeable tone of the man of the world. "Let me introjuice Mr. Enery Arper. Mr. Dinkie Dawson."
"'Ow do," said Dinkie. But it was not the tone he had used to Ginger. There was inquiry, condescension, keep-your-distance and quite a lot of other things in it. Ginger, whom Dinkie knew and liked, had described Mr. Enery Arper as a Nonesuch, but Dinkie, who was himself a Nonesuch of a very authentic breed, was not all inclined to make concessions to a Nonesuch in embryo.
Mr. Harper's shyness was so intense that it might easily have been mistaken for Lift. But Ginger, wary and alert, stepped into the breach with his accustomed gallantry.
"I told yer in my letter he had been a sailor," whispered Ginger in the great man's ear. "He's sailed eight years afore the mast. Three times wrecked. Seed the serpent. Gee, what that chap's done an' seen—it fair makes you dizzy. Not that you would think it to look at him, would yer?"