Ginger gave the dog a punch in the chest, and, arter saying a few o’ the things he’d like to do to Sam Small, he cuddled down in ’is bed and they all went off to sleep.  All but the dog, that is.  He seemed uneasy in ’is mind, and if ’e woke ’em up once by standing on his ’ind-legs and putting his fore-paws on their chest to see if they was still alive, he did arf-a-dozen times.

He dropped off to sleep at last, scratching ’imself, but about three o’clock in the morning Ginger woke up with a ’orrible start and sat up in bed shivering.  Sam and Peter woke up, too, and, raising themselves in bed, looked at the dog, wot was sitting on its tail, with its ’ead back, moaning fit to break its ’art.

“Wot’s the matter?” ses old Sam, in a shaky voice.  “Stop it!  Stop it, d’ye hear!”

“P’r’aps it’s dying,” ses Ginger, as the dog let off a ’owl like a steamer coming up the river.  “Stop it, you brute!”

“He’ll wake the ’ouse up in a minute,” ses Peter.  “Take ’im downstairs and kick ’im into the street, Sam.”

“Take ’im yourself,” ses Sam.  “Hsh!  Somebody’s coming upstairs.  Poor old doggie.  Come along, then.  Come along.”

The dog left off his ’owling, and went over and licked ’im just as the landlady and one or two more came to the door and called out to know wot they meant by it.

“It’s all right, missis,” ses Sam.  “It’s on’y pore Ginger.  You keep quiet,” he ses in a whisper, turning to Ginger.

“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.

“I’ll go down to the front door,” ses Peter, “and when I whistle, bring him down.”