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"You don't understand, Ginger," said Sam, in a soft voice; "it ain't often a chap gets the chance o' making a bit o' money these 'ard times." "So we've put all our money on Bill Lumm," ses Peter. "It's the safest and easiest way o' making money I ever 'eard of. You see, we know you're not a prize-fighter and the others don't."
They turned down some little streets, several of 'em going diff'rent ways, and arter crossing the River Lea got on to the marshes, and, as the landlord said, the place might ha' been made for it. A little chap from Mile End was the referee, and Bill Lumm, 'aving peeled, stood looking on while Ginger took 'is things off and slowly and carefully folded 'em up.
He walked off with Miss Tucker, leaving Bill Lumm standing on the pavement scratching his 'ead and staring arter 'im as though 'e didn't quite know wot to make of it. Bill stood there for pretty near five minutes, and then arter asking Sam and Peter, who 'ad been standing by listening, whether they wanted anything for themselves, walked off to ask 'is pals wot they knew about the Sydney Puncher.
They turned down some little streets, several of 'em going diff'rent ways, and arter crossing the River Lea got on to the marshes, and, as the landlord said, the place might ha' been made for it. A little chap from Mile End was the referee, and Bill Lumm, 'aving peeled, stood looking on while Ginger took 'is things off and slowly and carefully folded 'em up.
"You don't understand, Ginger," said Sam, in a soft voice; "it ain't often a chap gets the chance o' making a bit o' money these 'ard times." "So we've put all our money on Bill Lumm," ses Peter. "It's the safest and easiest way o' making money I ever 'eard of. You see, we know you're not a prize-fighter and the others don't."
Poor sailorman, innocent of petticoats, caught in the esoteric web, pumping water for Pollie Lumm Pollie Lumm plump, pert, pink and pretty. And so they were married. Their wedding-journey was in a scow, across to the bridegroom's ship, riding at anchor, her cordage creaking in the rising breeze.
"I 'eard something about her to-day, Ginger," ses Peter Russet. "I met a chap I used to know at Bull's Wharf, and he told me that she used to keep company with a chap named Bill Lumm, a bit of a prize-fighter, and since she gave 'im up she won't look at anybody else." "Was she very fond of 'im, then?" asks Ginger.
Occasionally there would toddle a child with jug or pail, and then the crooked little storekeeper would come forward and work the pump-handle. Among others came Pollie Lumm plump, pretty, pink and sixteen. Girard pumped for her, too. He got into the habit of pumping for her. If he was busy, she would wait. Pollie Lumm was a sort of cousin to Sallie Lunn. Neither had intellect to speak of.
Not that 'e was a coward, being always ready for a scrap and gin'rally speaking doing well at it, but he made a few inquiries about Bill Lumm and 'e saw that 'e had about as much chance with 'im as a kitten would 'ave with a bulldog.
His chief confidants and assistants were Thomas Russell and Mathew Dowdall, formerly prisoners at Fort-George, but now permitted to return; William Putnam McCabe, the most adventurous of all the party, a perfect Proteus in disguise; Gray, a Wexford attorney; Colonel Lumm of Kildare, an old friend of Lord Edward Fitzgerald; Mr.
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