"Don't stop 'im, Peter," ses Ginger. "Let 'im go on; it'll do him good."
"He's forgot all about that penknife you picked up and went shares in,"
ses Peter. "I wouldn't be mean for _twenty_ lockets."
"Nor me neither," ses Ginger. "But we won't let 'im be mean--for 'is own
sake. We'll 'ave our rights."
"Rights!" ses Sam. "Rights! You didn't find it."
"We always go shares if we find anything," ses Ginger. "Where's your
memory, Sam?" "But I didn't find it," ses Sam.
"No, you bought it," ses Peter, "and if you don't go shares we'll split
on you--see? Then you can't sell it anyway, and perhaps you won't even
get the reward. We can be at Orange Villa as soon as wot you can."
"Sooner," ses Ginger, nodding. "But there's no need to do that. If 'e
don't go shares I'll slip round to the police-station fust thing in the
morning."
"You know the way there all right," ses Sam, very bitter.
"And we don't want none o' your back-answers," ses Ginger. "Are you
going shares or not?"
"Wot about the money I paid for it?" ses Sam, "and my trouble?"
Ginger and Peter sat down on the bed to talk it over, and at last, arter
calling themselves a lot o' bad names for being too kind-'earted, they
offered 'im five pounds each for their share in the locket.
"And that means you've got your share for next to nothing, Sam," ses
Ginger.
"Some people wouldn't 'ave given you any-thing," ses Peter.
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