bone, and Joe Clark 'ad to go and get clean straw for his wife and
children to sleep on; not that Mrs. Clark 'ad any sleep that night, nor
Joe neither.

Henery Walker was the fust to see what it really meant, and he went
rushing off as fast as 'e could run to tell George Barstow. George
couldn't believe 'im at fust, but when 'e did he swore that if a 'air of
that cat's head was harmed 'e'd 'ave the law o' Bob Pretty, and arter
Henery Walker 'ad gone 'e walked round to tell 'im so.

"You're not yourself, George Barstow, else you wouldn't try and take away
my character like that," ses Bob Pretty.

"Wot did Joe Clark give you all them things for?" ses George, pointing to
the furniture.

"Took a fancy to me, I s'pose," ses Bob. "People do sometimes. There's
something about me at times that makes 'em like me."

"He gave 'em to you to kill my cat," ses George Barstow. "It's plain
enough for any-body to see."

Bob Pretty smiled. "I expect it'll turn up safe and sound one o' these
days," he ses, "and then you'll come round and beg my pardon. P'r'aps--"

"P'r'aps wot?" ses George Barstow, arter waiting a bit.

"P'r'aps somebody 'as got it and is keeping it till you've drawed the
fifteen pounds out o' the bank," ses Bob, looking at 'im very hard.