They was all in a better temper when they woke up in the morning, and while Sam was washing they talked about wot they was to do with the dog.
“We can't lead 'im about all day,” ses Ginger; “and if we let 'im off the string he'll go off 'ome.”
“He don't know where his 'ome is,” ses Sam, very severe; “but he might run away, and then the pore thing might be starved or else ill-treated. I 'ave 'eard o' boys tying tin cans to their tails.”
“I've done it myself,” ses Ginger, nodding. “Consequently it's our dooty to look arter 'im,” ses Sam.
“I'll go down to the front door,” ses Peter, “and when I whistle, bring him down.”
Ginger stuck his 'ead out o' the window, and by and by, when Peter whistled, him and Sam took the dog downstairs and out into the street.
“So far so good,” ses Sam; “now, wot about brekfuss?”
They 'ad their brekfuss in their usual coffeeshop, and the dog took bits from all of them. Unfortunately, 'e wasn't used to haddick bones, and arter two of the customers 'ad gorn out and two more 'ad complained to the landlord, they 'ad to leave their brekfusses and take 'im outside for a breath o' fresh air.
“Now, wot are we going to do?” ses Ginger. “I'm beginning to be sick of the sight of 'im. 'Ave we got to lead 'im about all day on a bit o' string?”
“Let's take 'im round the corner and lose 'im,” ses Peter Russet.