"'Ow much 'ave you got?" ses his pal.
Sam felt in 'is pockets, and the docker came up and stood watching while
he counted it. Altogether it was nine pounds fourteen shillings and
tuppence.
"P'r'aps you've got some more at 'ome," ses his pal.
"Not a farthing," ses Sam, which was true as far as the farthing went.
"Or p'r'aps you could borrer some," ses his pal, in a soft, kind voice.
"I'd lend it to you with pleasure, on'y I haven't got it with me."
Sam shook his 'ead, and at last, arter the docker 'ad said he wouldn't
let it go for less than twenty, even to save 'is life, he let it go for
the nine pounds odd, a silver watch-chain, two cigars wot Sam 'ad been
sitting on by mistake, and a sheath-knife.
"Shove it in your pocket and don't let a soul see it," ses the man,
handing over the locket. "I might as well give it away a'most. But it
can't be 'elped."
He went off up the 'ill shaking his 'ead, and Sam's pal, arter watching
him for a few seconds, said good-bye in a hurry and went off arter 'im to
tell him to keep 'is mouth shut about it.
Sam walked back to his lodgings on air, as the saying is, and even did a
little bit of a skirt-dance to a pianner-organ wot was playing. Peter
and Ginger was out, and so was his land-lady, a respectable woman as was
minding the rest of 'is money for him, and when he asked 'er little gal,
a kid of eleven, to trust 'im for some tin she gave 'im a lecture on
wasting his money instead wot took 'is breath away--all but a word or two.
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