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Sam had another shilling’s-worth the next day, and ‘is medicine was changed for the worse. If anything he seemed a trifle better, but the landlady’s mother, wot came up to nurse ‘im agin, said it was a bad sign, and that people often brightened up just afore the end. She asked ‘im whether ‘e’d got a fancy for any partikler spot to be buried in, and, talking about wot a lot o’ people ‘ad been buried alive, said she’d ask the doctor to cut Sam’s ‘ead off to prevent mistakes. She got quite annoyed with Sam for saying, supposing therewasa mistake and he came round in the middle of it, how’d he feel? and said there was no satisfying some people, do wot you would.

At the end o’ six days Sam was still alive and losing a shilling a day, to say nothing of buying ‘is own beef-tea and such-like. Ginger said it was fair highway robbery, and tried to persuade Sam to go to a ‘orsepittle, where he’d ‘ave lo
vely nurses to wait on ‘im hand and foot, and wouldn’t keep ‘is best friends awake of a night making ‘orrible noises.

Sam didn’t take kindly to the idea at fust, but as the doctor forbid ‘im to get up, although he felt much better, and his money was wasting away, he gave way at last, and at seven o’clock one evening he sent Ginger off to fetch a cab to take ‘im to the London Horsepittle. Sam said something about putting ‘is clothes on, but Peter Russet said the horsepittle would be more likely to take him in if he went in the blanket and counterpane, and at last Sam gave way. Ginger and Peter helped ‘im downstairs, and the cabman laid hold o’ one end o’ the blanket as they got to the street-door, under the idea that he was helping, and very near gave Sam another chill.

“Keep your hair on,” he ses, as Sam started on ‘im. “It’ll be three-and- six for the fare, and I’ll take the money now. ”

“You’ll ‘ave it when you get there,” ses Ginger.

“I’ll ‘ave it now,” ses the cabman. “I ‘ad a fare die on the way once afore. ”

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. ”