st, 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.

"I've taken it out o' the bank," ses George, starting; "if that cat's
alive, Bob, and you've got it, there's the fifteen pounds the moment you
'and it over."

"Wot d'ye mean--me got it?" ses Bob Pretty. "You be careful o' my
character."

"I mean if you know where it is," ses George Barstow trembling all over.

"I don't say I couldn't find it, if that's wot you mean," ses Bob. "I
can gin'rally find things when I want to."

"You find me that cat, alive and well, and the money's yours, Bob," ses
George, 'ardly able to speak, now that 'e fancied the cat was still
alive.

Bob Pretty shook his 'ead. "No; that won't do," he ses. "S'pose I did
'ave the luck to find that pore animal, you'd say I'd had it all the time
and refuse to pay."

"I swear I wouldn't, Bob," ses George Barstow, jumping up.

"Best thing you can do if you want me to try and find that cat," says Bob
Pretty, "is to give me the fifteen pounds now, and I'll go and look for
it at once. I can't trust you, George Barstow."

"And I can't trust you," ses George Barstow.

"Very good," ses Bob, getting up; "there's no 'arm done. P'r'aps Joe
Clark 'll find the cat is dead and p'r'aps you'll find it's alive. It's
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'