table with the handle of his knife, explained that he had been informed
by a man outside that his companion was the bitterest teetotaller in
Claybury.

"That's one o' Bob Pretty's larks," said the old man, flushing. "I see
you talking to 'im, and I thought as 'ow he warn't up to no good.
Biggest rascal in Claybury, he is. I've said so afore, and I'll say so
agin."

He bowed to the donor and buried his old face in the mug.

"A poacher!" he said, taking breath. "A thief!" he continued, after
another draught. "I wonder whether Smith spilt any of this a-carrying of
it in?"

He put down the empty mug and made a careful examination of the floor,
until a musical rapping on the table brought the landlord into the room
again.

"My best respects," he said, gratefully, as he placed the mug on the
settle by his side and slowly filled a long clay pipe. Next time you see
Bob Pretty ask 'im wot happened to the prize hamper. He's done a good
many things has Bob, but it'll be a long time afore Claybury men'll look
over that.

It was Henery Walker's idea. Henery 'ad been away to see an uncle of 'is
wife's wot had money and nobody to leave it to--leastways, so Henery
thought when he wasted his money going over to see 'im--and he came back
full of the idea, which he 'ad picked up from the old man.