Sam told 'im agin he didn't want none of 'is advice, and, as Ginger wouldn't leave off talking, he pretended to go to sleep. Ginger woke 'im up three times to tell 'im wot a fool 'e was, but 'e got so fierce that he gave it up at last and told 'im to go 'is own way.
Sam wouldn't speak to either of 'em next morning, and arter breakfast he went off on 'is own. He came back while Peter and Ginger was out, and they wasted best part o' the day trying to find 'im.
“We'll be on Tower Hill just afore nine and keep 'im out o' mischief, any way,” ses Peter.
Ginger nodded. “And be called names for our pains,” he ses. “I've a good mind to let 'im be robbed.”
“It 'ud serve 'im right,” ses Peter, “on'y then he'd want to borrer off of us. Look here! Why not—why not rob 'im ourselves?”
“Wot?” ses Ginger, starting.
“Walk up behind 'im and rob 'im,” ses Peter. “He'll think it's them two chaps he spoke about, and when 'e comes 'ome complaining to us we'll tell 'im it serves 'im right. Arter we've 'ad a game with 'im for a day or two we'll give 'im 'is money back.”
“But he'd reckernize us,” ses Ginger.
“We must disguise ourselves,” ses Peter, in a whisper. “There's a barber's shop in Cable Street, where I've seen beards in the winder. You hook 'em on over your ears. Get one o' them each, pull our caps over our eyes and turn our collars up, and there you are.”
Ginger made a lot of objections, not because he didn't think it was a good idea, but because he didn't like Peter thinking of it instead of 'im; but he gave way at last, and, arter he 'ad got the beard, he stood for a long time in front o' the glass thinking wot a difference it would ha' made to his looks if he had 'ad black 'air instead o' red.