“Take this up to the Cauliflower,” she ses, “make friends with Bill Jones, and give him as much beer as he’ll drink, and give ’im a little o’ this gin in each mug. If he drinks it the spell will be broken, and you’ll be luckier than you ’ave ever been in your life afore. When ’e’s drunk some, and not before, leave the bottle standing on the table.”
Joe Barlcomb thanked ’er, and with the bottle in ’is pocket went off to the Cauliflower, whistling. Bill Jones was there, and Peter Lamb, and two or three more of ’em, and at fust they said some pretty ’ard things to him about being woke up in the night.
“Don’t bear malice, Bill,” ses Joe Barlcomb; “’ave a pint with me.”
He ordered two pints, and then sat down along-side o’ Bill, and in five minutes they was like brothers.
“’Ave a drop o’ gin in it, Bill,” he ses, taking the bottle out of ’is pocket.
Bill thanked ’im and had a drop, and then, thoughtful-like, he wanted Joe to ’ave some in his too, but Joe said no, he’d got a touch o’ toothache, and it was bad for it.
“I don’t mind ’aving a drop in my beer, Joe,” ses Peter Lamb.
“Not to-night, mate,” ses Joe; “it’s all for Bill. I bought it on purpose for ’im.”
Bill shook ’ands with him, and when Joe called for another pint and put some more gin in it he said that ’e was the noblest-’arted man that ever lived.
“You wasn’t saying so ’arf an hour ago,” ses Peter Lamb.