Mr. Goodman shook his ’ead.

“They got off.  Didn’t you see ’em?” he ses.  “No,” ses Sam, “I’ll swear they didn’t.”

“Well, it’s my mistake, I s’pose,” ses Peter’s uncle.  “But you get off home; I’m not tired yet, and I’ll walk.”

Sam said ’e wasn’t very tired, and he walked along wondering whether Mr. Goodman was quite right in his ’ead.  For one thing, ’e seemed upset about something or other, and kept taking little peeps at ’im in a way he couldn’t understand at all.

“It was nice tea we ’ad this arternoon,” ses Mr. Goodman at last.

“De-licious,” ses Sam.

“Trust a teetotaller for knowing good tea,” ses Mr. Goodman.  “I expect Peter enjoyed it.  I s’pose ’e is a very strict teetotaller?”

“Strict ain’t the word for it,” ses Sam, trying to do ’is duty by Peter.  “We all are.”

“That’s right,” ses Mr. Goodman, and he pushed his ’at back and looked at Sam very serious.  They walked on a bit further, and then Peter’s uncle stopped sudden just as they was passing a large public-’ouse and looked at Sam.

“I don’t want Peter to know, ’cos it might alarm ’im,” he ses, “but I’ve come over a bit faint.  I’ll go in ’ere for ’arf a minnit and sit down.  You’d better wait outside.”

“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.