"George Kettle shall load the pistol and fire it if 'e won't," ses Bob
Pretty. "'Aving been in the Militia, there couldn't be a better man for
the job."

George Kettle walked up to the table as red as fire at being praised like
that afore people and started loading the pistol. He seemed to be more
awkward about it than the conjurer 'ad been the last time, and he 'ad to
roll the watch-cases up with the flat-iron afore 'e could get 'em in.
But 'e loaded it at last and stood waiting.

"Don't shoot at me, George Kettle," ses Bob. "I've been called a thief
once, and I don't want to be agin."

"Put that pistol down, you fool, afore you do mischief," ses the
conjurer.

"Who shall I shoot at?" ses George Kettle, raising the pistol.

"Better fire at the conjurer, I think," ses Bob Pretty; "and if things
'appen as he says they will 'appen, the watch ought to be found in 'is
coat-pocket."

"Where is he?" ses George, looking round.

Bill Chambers laid 'old of 'im just as he was going through the door to
fetch the landlord, and the scream 'e gave as he came back and George
Kettle pointed the pistol at 'im was awful.

[Illustration: "The scream 'e gave as George Kettle pointed the pistol at