“O' course, you got your purse back in the fight, Sam?” ses Peter.
“No, mate,” ses Sam. “I ain't going to tell you no lies—I did not.”
“And 'ow are you going to live, then, till you get a ship, Sam?” ses Ginger, in a nasty voice. “You won't get nothing out o' me, so you needn't think it.”
“Wot on earth's the matter, Ginger?”
“Nor me,” ses Peter. “Not a brass farthing.”
“There's no call to be nasty about it, mates,” ses Sam. “I 'ad the best fight I ever 'ad in my life, and I must put up with the loss. A man can't 'ave it all his own way.”
“'Ow much was it?” ses Peter.
“Ten brace-buttons, three French ha'pennies, and a bit o' tin,” ses Sam. “Wot on earth's the matter, Ginger?”
