Ginger—who was minding Sam’s money for ’im because there wasn’t a pocket in the counterpane—paid ’im, and the cab started. It jolted and rattled over the stones, but Sam said the air was doing ’im good. He kept ’is pluck up until they got close to the horsepittle, and then ’e got nervous. And ’e got more nervous when the cabman got down off ’is box and put his ’ed in at the winder and spoke to ’im. “’Ave you got any partikler fancy for the London Horsepittle?” he ses. “No,” ses Sam. “Why?” “Well, I s’pose it don’t matter, if wot your mate ses is true—that you’re dying,” ses the cabman. “Wot d’ye mean?” says Sam. “Nothing,” ses the cabman; “only, fust and last, I s’pose I’ve driven five ’undred people to that ’orsepittle, and only one ever came out agin—and he was smuggled out in a bread-basket.” Sam’s flesh began to creep all over. “It’s a pity they don’t ’ave the same rules as Charing Cross Horsepittle,” ses the cabman. “The doctors ’ave five pounds apiece for every patient that gets well there, and the consequence is they ain’t ’ad the blinds down for over five months.” “Drive me there,” ses Sam. “It’s a long way,” ses the cabman, shaking his ’ed, “and it ’ud cost you another ’arf dollar. S’pose you give the London a try?” “You drive to Charing Cross,” ses Sam, telling Ginger to give ’im the ’arf-dollar. “And look sharp; these things ain’t as warm as they might be.” The cabman turned his ’orse round and set off agin, singing. The cab stopped once or twice for a little while, and then it stopped for quite a long time, and the cabman climbed down off ’is box and came to the winder agin. “I’m sorry, mate,” he ses, “but did you see me speak to that party just now?” “The one you flicked with your whip?” ses Ginger. “No; he was speaking to me,” ses the cabman. “The last one, I mean.” “Wot about it?” ses Peter. “He’s the under-porter at the horsepittle,” ses the cabman, spitting; “and he tells me that every bed is bung full, and two patients apiece in some of ’em.” “I don’t mind sleeping two in a bed,” ses Sam, who was very tired and cold. “No,” ses the cabman, looking at ’im; “but wot about the other one?” “Well, what’s to be done?” ses Peter. “You might go to Guy’s,” ses the cabman; “that’s as good as Charing Cross.” “I b’lieve you’re telling a pack o’ lies,” ses Ginger. “Come out o’ my cab,” ses the cabman, very fierce. “Come on, all of you. Out you get.” Ginger and Peter was for getting out, but Sam wouldn’t ’ear of it. It was bad enough being wrapped up in a blanket in a cab, without being turned out in ’is bare feet on the pavement, and at last Ginger apologized to the cabman by saying ’e supposed if he was a liar he couldn’t ’elp it. The cabman collected three shillings more to go to Guy’s ’orsepittle, and, arter a few words with Ginger, climbed up on ’is box and drove off agin.