all one to me."

George Barstow walked off 'ome, but he was in such a state o' mind 'e
didn't know wot to do. Bob Pretty turning up 'is nose at fifteen pounds
like that made 'im think that Joe Clark 'ad promised to pay 'im more if
the cat was dead; and at last, arter worrying about it for a couple o'
hours, 'e came up to this 'ere _Cauliflower_ and offered Bob the fifteen
pounds.

"Wot's this for?" ses Bob.

"For finding my cat," ses George.

"Look here," ses Bob, handing it back, "I've 'ad enough o' your insults;
I don't know where your cat is."

"I mean for trying to find it, Bob," ses George Barstow.

"Oh, well, I don't mind that," ses Bob, taking it. "I'm a 'ard-working
man, and I've got to be paid for my time; it's on'y fair to my wife and
children. I'll start now."

He finished up 'is beer, and while the other chaps was telling George
Barstow wot a fool he was Joe Clark slipped out arter Bob Pretty and
began to call 'im all the names he could think of.

"Don't you worry," ses Bob; "the cat ain't found yet."

"Is it dead?" ses Joe Clark, 'ardly able to speak.