“Thankee,” ses Sam.  “The fact is, I’ve run a bit short owing to paying a man some money I owed ’im.  If you could lend me five pounds, I couldn’t thank you enough.”

Mr. Goodman put down ’is knife and fork and wrinkled up ’is forehead.

“I’m very sorry,” he ses, feeling in ’is pockets; “do you want it to-day?”

“Yes; I should like it,” ses Sam.

“It’s most annoying,” ses Mr. Goodman, “but I was so afraid o’ pickpockets that I didn’t bring much away with me.  If you could wait till the day arter to-morrow, when my money is sent to me, you can ’ave ten if you like.”

“You’re very kind,” ses Sam, “but that ’ud be too late for me.  I must try and get it somewhere else.”  Peter and Ginger went on eating their breakfast, but every time Peter looked up he caught ’is uncle looking at ‘im in such a surprised and disappointed sort o’ way that ’e didn’t like the look of it at all.

“I could just do it for a couple o’ days, Sam,” he ses at last, “but it’ll leave me very short.”

“That’s right,” ses his uncle, smiling.  “My nevvy, Peter Russet, will lend it to you, Mr. Small, of ’is own free will.  He ’as offered afore he was asked, and that’s the proper way to do it, in my opinion.”

He reached acrost the table and shook ’ands with Peter, and said that generosity ran in their family, and something seemed to tell ’im as Peter wouldn’t lose by it.  Everybody seemed pleased with each other, and arter Ginger Dick and Peter ’ad gone out Mr. Goodman took the five pounds off of old Sam and stowed ’em away very careful in the match-box.

[Illustration:  “He reached acrost the table and shook ’ands with Peter.”]

“It’s nice to ’ave money agin,” he ses.  “There’s enough for a week’s enjoyment here.”

“Yes,” ses Sam, slow-like; “but wot I want to know is, wot about the day arter to-morrow, when Peter expects ’is money?”

Mr. Goodman patted ’im on the shoulder.  “Don’t you worry about Peter’s troubles,” he ses.  “I know exactly wot to do; it’s all planned out.  Now I’m going to ’ave a lay down for an hour—­I didn’t get much sleep last night—­and if you’ll call me at twelve o’clock we’ll go somewhere.  Knock loud.”

He patted ’im on the shoulder agin, and Sam, arter fidgeting about a bit, went out.  The last time he ever see Peter’s uncle he was laying on the bed with ’is eyes shut, smiling in his sleep.  And Peter Russet didn’t see Sam for eighteen months.