“I’ll come in with you, in case you want help,” ses Sam.  “I don’t mind wot people think.”

Mr. Goodman tried to persuade ’im not to, but it was all no good, and at last ’e walked in and sat down on a tall stool that stood agin the bar, and put his hand to his ’ead.

“I s’pose we shall ’ave to ’ave something,” he ses in a whisper to Sam; “we can’t expect to come in and sit down for nothing.  What’ll you take?”

Sam looked at ‘im, but he might just as well ha’ looked at a brass door-knob.

“I—­I—­I’ll ’ave a small ginger-beer,” he ses at last, “a very small one.”

“One small ginger,” ses Mr. Goodman to the bar-maid, “and one special Scotch.”

Sam could ’ardly believe his ears, and he stood there ‘oldin’ his glass o’ ginger-beer and watching Peter’s teetotal uncle drink whiskey, and thought ’e must be dreaming.

“I dessay it seems very shocking to you,” ses Mr. Goodman, putting down ‘is glass and dryin’ ’is lips on each other, “but I find it useful for these attacks.”

“I—­I s’pose the flavor’s very nasty?” ses Sam, taking a sip at ’is ginger-beer.

“Not exactly wot you could call nasty,” ses Mr. Goodman, “though I dessay it would seem so to you.  I don’t suppose you could swallow it.”

“I don’t s’pose I could,” ses Sam, “but I’ve a good mind to ’ave a try.  If it’s good for one teetotaller I don’t see why it should hurt another.”

Mr. Goodman looked at ’im very hard, and then he ordered a whiskey and stood watching while Sam, arter pretending for a minnit to look at it as though ’e didn’t know wot to do with it, took a sip and let it roll round ’is mouth.

“Well?” ses Mr. Goodman, looking at ’im anxious-like.

“It ain’t so ’orrid as I ’ad fancied,” ses Sam, lap-ping up the rest very gentle.

[Illustration:  “’It aint so ’orrid as I ‘ad fancied.’ ses Sam.”]

“’Ave you ’ad enough to do you all the good it ought to?”

Mr. Goodman said that it was no good ’arf doing a thing, and p’r’aps he ’ad better ’ave one more; and arter Sam ’ad paid for the next two they went out arm-in-arm.

“’Ow cheerful everybody looks!” ses Mr. Good-man, smiling.

“They’re going to amuse theirselves, I expect,” ses Sam—­ “music-’alls and such-like.”

Mr. Goodman shook his ’ead at ’em.

“Music-’alls ain’t so bad as some people try to make out,” ses Sam.

“Look ’ere; I took some drink to see what the flavor was like; suppose you go to a music-’all to see wot that’s like?”

“It seems on’y fair,” ses Peter’s uncle, considering.

“It is fair,” ses Sam, and twenty minutes arterwards they was sitting in a music-’all drinking each other’s ’ealths and listening to the songs—­ Mr. Goodman with a big cigar in ’is mouth and his ’at cocked over one eye, and Sam beating time to the music with ’is pipe.

“’Ow do you like it?” he ses.