"Forgotten Doncaster races, nineteen five, hast tha, Ned? Well, Ah'm pained in my choicest feelin's. Here Ah finds 'ee in misfortune, order the stuff tha needs, pay for it, give 'ee good counsel and call 'ee Ned, and 'tis not till ale's drownin' t' sadness of 'ee where it bides, that 'ee call to mind you've forgotten Sam Bunce."
"Sam'l—ay, Sam'l Ah remembers. 'Twas t' Bunce as came 'ard like. But nineteen five? Challacombe's Leger, that was. Ay, Bunce fits into it. This ale clears the wits wunnerful."
Dick was at the bar, money passing to the tapster.
"There's another, owd cock, where that came from," he said, turning to Blossom. "Mebbe the next pint'll make 'ee call to mind how Challacombe's win cleaned me out—and me bound to get south away to Coventry?"
"Ay," said Ned again, politely remembering all that he was told. "See'd 'ee off by t' train, I did."
"Good old Blossom you be," said Dick, laughing kindly, "sayin' nowt o' the two jimmies you lent to get me home—an' us both that full we forgot all about where I was to send the blunt! But it's not Sam Bunce'll forget what he owes a man, and Ah knew as Ah'd meet 'ee again."
And he pushed three one-pound notes into the fuddled Ned's hand, who saw no reason in denying a friend of this kind.
"'Most gone out o' my head, the money," he muttered. "But Ah knew 'ee meant paying."
Then, as he awkwardly separated the notes, puzzling over the third, "Bit of interest for the waitin'," said Dick. "Put 'em away, while I go and get that Tod Sloan hitched single to lead your pair."
"I'll never drive 'im," objected Ned mournfully. "Ah've been turned all ends up, wi' this 'ere 'appening. Tod, 'e'll turn an' laugh at me."