“Who'd ha' thought 'e could ha' hit like that?” says Ginger. “That's wot gets over me. I never 'ad such a bang in my life—never. I'm going to 'ave a little drop o' brandy—my 'ead is fair swimming.”
Peter 'ad one, too; but though they went into the private bar, it wasn't private enough for them; and when the landlady asked Ginger who'd been kissing 'im, he put 'is glass down with a bang and walked straight off 'ome.
Sam 'adn't turned up by the time they got there, and pore Ginger took advantage of it to put a little warm candle-grease on 'is bad leg. Then he bathed 'is face very careful and 'elped Peter bathe his 'ead. They 'ad just finished when they heard Sam coming upstairs, and Ginger sat down on 'is bed and began to whistle, while Peter took up a bit o' newspaper and stood by the candle reading it.
“Lor' lumme, Ginger!” ses Sam, staring at 'im. “What ha' you been a-doing to your face?”
“Me?” ses Ginger, careless-like. “Oh, we 'ad a bit of a scrap down Limehouse way with some Scotchies. Peter got a crack over the 'ead at the same time.”
“Ah, I've 'ad a bit of a scrap, too,” ses Sam, smiling all over, “but I didn't get marked.”
“Oh!” ses Peter, without looking up from 'is paper. “Was it a little boy, then?” ses Ginger.
“No, it wasn't a little boy neither, Ginger,” ses Sam; “it was a couple o' men twice the size of you and Peter here, and I licked 'em both. It was the two men I spoke to you about last night.”
“Oh!” ses Peter agin, yawning.
“I did a bit o' thinking this morning,” ses Sam, nodding at 'em, “and I don't mind owning up that it was owing to wot you said. You was right, Ginger, arter all.”