“Show—us—the—diamond locket!” ses Peter. “It’s my turn, Peter,” ses Ginger. “One, two, three. SHOW—US—TH’——” “Shut up,” ses Sam, trembling all over. “I’ll show it to you if you stop your noise.” He put his ’and under his piller, but afore he showed it to ’em he sat up in bed and made ’em a little speech. He said ’e never wanted to see their faces agin as long as he lived, and why Ginger’s mother ’adn’t put ’im in a pail o’ cold water when ’e was born ’e couldn’t understand. He said ’e didn’t believe that even a mother could love a baby that looked like a cod-fish with red ’air, and as for Peter Russet, ’e believed his mother died of fright. “That’ll do,” ses Ginger, as Sam stopped to get ’is breath. “Are you going to show us the locket, or ’ave we got to shout agin?” Sam swallered something that nearly choked ’im, and then he opened his ’and and showed it to them. Peter told ’im to wave it so as they could see the diamonds flash, and then Ginger waved the candle to see ’ow they looked that way, and pretty near set pore Sam’s whiskers on fire. They didn’t leave ’im alone till they knew as much about it as he could tell ’em, and they both of ’em told ’im that if he took a reward of thirty pounds for it, instead of selling it for a ’undred, he was a bigger fool than he looked. “I shall turn it over in my mind,” ses Sam, sucking ’is teeth. “When I want your advice I’ll ask you for it.” “We wasn’t thinking of you,” ses Ginger; “we was thinking of ourselves.” “You!” ses Sam, with a bit of a start. “Wot’s it got to do with you?” “Our share’ll be bigger, that’s all,” ses Ginger. “Much bigger,” ses Peter. “I couldn’t dream of letting it go at thirty. It’s chucking money away. Why, we might get two ’undred for it. Who knows?” Sam sat on the edge of ’is bed like a man in a dream, then ’e began to make a noise like a cat with a fish-bone in its throat, and then ’e stood up and let fly. “Don’t stop ’im, Peter,” ses Ginger. “Let ’im go on; it’ll do him good.” “He’s forgot all about that penknife you picked up and went shares in,” ses Peter. “I wouldn’t be mean for twenty lockets.” “Nor me neither,” ses Ginger. “But we won’t let ’im be mean—for ’is own sake. We’ll ’ave our rights.” “Rights!” ses Sam. “Rights! You didn’t find it.” “We always go shares if we find anything,” ses Ginger. “Where’s your memory, Sam?” “But I didn’t find it,” ses Sam. “No, you bought it,” ses Peter, “and if you don’t go shares we’ll split on you—see? Then you can’t sell it anyway, and perhaps you won’t even get the reward. We can be at Orange Villa as soon as wot you can.” “Sooner,” ses Ginger, nodding. “But there’s no need to do that. If ’e don’t go shares I’ll slip round to the police-station fust thing in the morning.” “You know the way there all right,” ses Sam, very bitter. “And we don’t want none o’ your back-answers,” ses Ginger. “Are you going shares or not?” “Wot about the money I paid for it?” ses Sam, “and my trouble?”