u forget it. This ain't the fust
time you've told that lie about me. I can take a joke with any man; but
anybody that goes and ses I tickled--"

"All right," ses Ginger and Peter Russet together. "You'll 'ave tickled
policeman on the brain if you ain't careful, Sam," ses Peter.

Old Sam sat down growling, and Ginger Dick turned to Bill agin. "It gets
into everybody's 'ead at times," he ses, "and where's the 'arm? It's wot
it was meant for."

Bill shook his 'ead, but when Ginger called 'im disobligin' agin he gave
way and he broke the pledge that very evening with a pint o' six 'arf.

Ginger was surprised to see the way 'e took his liquor. Arter three or
four pints he'd expected to see 'im turn a bit silly, or sing, or do
something o' the kind, but Bill kept on as if 'e was drinking water.

"Think of the 'armless pleasure you've been losing all these months,
Bill," ses Ginger, smiling at him.

Bill said it wouldn't bear thinking of, and, the next place they came to
he said some rather 'ard things of the man who'd persuaded 'im to take
the pledge. He 'ad two or three more there, and then they began to see
that it was beginning to have an effect on 'im. The first one that
noticed it was Ginger Dick. Bill 'ad just lit 'is pipe, and as he threw
the match down he ses: "I don't like these 'ere safety matches," he ses.

"Don't you, Bill?" ses Ginger. "I do, rather."

"Oh, you do, do you?" ses Bill, turning on 'im like lightning; "well,
take that for contradictin'," he ses, an' he gave Ginger a smack that
nearly knocked his 'ead off.

It was so sudden that old Sam and Peter put their beer down and stared at
each other as if they couldn't believe their eyes. Then they stooped
down and helped pore Ginger on to 'is legs agin and began to brush 'im
down.

"Never mind about 'im, mates," ses Bill, looking at Ginger very wicked.
"P'r'aps he won't be so ready to give me 'is lip next time. Let's come
to another pub and enjoy ourselves."

Sam and Peter followed 'im out like lambs, 'ardly daring to look over
their shoulder at Ginger, who was staggering arter them some distance
behind a 'olding a handerchief to 'is face.

"It's your turn to pay, Sam," ses Bill, when they'd got inside the next
place. "Wot's it to be? Give it a name."

"Three 'arf pints o' four ale, miss," ses Sam, not because 'e was mean,
but because it wasn't 'is turn. "Three wot?" ses Bill, turning on 'im.

"Three pots o' six ale, miss," ses