"Wot's he making that row about?" ses the landlady. "He made my blood
run cold."

"He's got a touch o' toothache," ses Sam. "Never mind, Ginger," 'e ses
in a hurry, as the dog let off another 'owl; "try and bear it."

"He's a coward, that's wot 'e is," ses the landlady, very fierce. "Why,
a child o' five wouldn't make such a fuss."

"Sounds more like a dog than a 'uman being," ses another voice. "You
come outside, Ginger, and I'll give you something to cry for."

They waited a minute or two, and then, everything being quiet, they went
back to bed, while old Sam talked to Ginger about wot 'e called 'is
"presence o' mind," and Ginger talked to 'im about wot he'd do to 'im if
'e wasn't a fat old man with one foot in the grave.

They was all in a better temper when they woke up in the morning, and
while Sam was washing they talked about wot they was to do with the dog.

"We can't lead 'im about all day," ses Ginger; "and if we let 'im off
the string he'll go off 'ome."

"He don't know where his 'ome is," ses Sam, very severe; "but he might
run away, and then the pore thing might be starved or else ill-treated.
I 'ave 'eard o' boys tying tin cans to their tails."

"I've done it myself," ses Ginger, nodding. "Consequently it's our
dooty to look arter 'im," ses Sam.