“Why, the one you bashed,” ses Ginger, with a wink at the other two. “He ’adn’t got ’is senses back when me and Sam came away.”
Bill gave a groan and sat on the bed while ’e dried himself, and Ginger told ’im ’ow he ’ad bent a quart pot on the landlord’s ’ead, and ’ow the landlord ’ad been carried upstairs and the doctor sent for. He began to tremble all over, and when Ginger said he’d go out and see ’ow the land lay ’e could ’ardly thank ’im enough.
He stayed in the bedroom all day, with the blinds down, and wouldn’t eat anything, and when Ginger looked in about eight o’clock to find out whether he ’ad gone, he found ’im sitting on the bed clean shaved, and ’is face cut about all over where the razor ’ad slipped.
Ginger was gone about two hours, and when ’e came back he looked so solemn that old Sam asked ’im whether he ’ad seen a ghost. Ginger didn’t answer ’im; he set down on the side o’ the bed and sat thinking.
“I s’pose—I s’pose it’s nice and fresh in the streets this morning?” ses Bill, at last, in a trembling voice.
Ginger started and looked at ’im. “I didn’t notice, mate,” he ses. Then ’e got up and patted Bill on the back, very gentle, and sat down again.
“Anything wrong, Ginger?” asks Peter Russet, staring at ’im.
“It’s that landlord,” ses Ginger; “there’s straw down in the road outside, and they say that he’s dying. Pore old Bill don’t know ’is own strength. The best thing you can do, old pal, is to go as far away as you can, at once.”