"He's gorn stark, staring mad," ses Ginger. "Wot a good job it is he's got me and you to look arter 'im, Peter."
"Wot d'ye mean?" ses Sam.
"Mean?" ses Ginger. "Why, it's a put-up job to rob you, o' course. I should ha' thought even your fat 'ead could ha' seen that':"
"When I want your advice I'll ask you for it," ses Sam, losing 'is temper. "Wot about the di'mond ring—eh?"
"You stick to it," ses Ginger, "and keep out o' Mr. Cubbins's way. That's my advice to you. 'Sides, p'r'aps it ain't a real one."
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?"