Peter Russet found out all about it next day, and told Sam that it was a barmaid with black ’air and eyes at the Jolly Pilots, and that she wouldn’t ’ave anything to say to Ginger.
He spoke to Ginger about it agin when they were going to bed that night, and to ’is surprise found that he was quite civil. When ’e said that he would do anything he could for ’im, Ginger was quite affected.
“I can’t eat or drink,” he ses, in a miserable voice; “I lay awake all last night thinking of her. She’s so diff’rent to other gals; she’s got—If I start on you, Sam Small, you’ll know it. You go and make that choking noise to them as likes it.”
“It’s a bit o’ egg-shell I got in my throat at breakfast this morning, Ginger,” ses Sam. “I wonder whether she lays awake all night thinking of you?”
“I dare say she does,” ses Peter Russet, giving ’im a little push.
“Keep your ’art up, Ginger,” ses Sam; “I’ve known gals to ’ave the most ext’ordinary likings afore now.”
“Don’t take no notice of ’im,” ses Peter, holding Ginger back. “’Ow are you getting on with her?”
Ginger groaned and sat down on ’is bed and looked at the floor, and Sam went and sat on his till it shook so that Ginger offered to step over and break ’is neck for ’im.
“I can’t ’elp the bed shaking,” ses Sam; “it ain’t my fault. I didn’t make it. If being in love is going to make you so disagreeable to your best friends, Ginger, you’d better go and live by yourself.”
“I ’eard something about her to-day, Ginger,” ses Peter Russet. “I met a chap I used to know at Bull’s Wharf, and he told me that she used to keep company with a chap named Bill Lumm, a bit of a prize-fighter, and since she gave ’im up she won’t look at anybody else.”