than it was for me," ses Bob.

"Put it down," screams the conjurer; "put it down. You'll kill 'arf the
men in the room if it goes off."

"Be careful where you aim, George," ses Sam Jones. "P'r'aps he'd better
'ave a chair all by hisself in the middle of the room."

It was all very well for Sam Jones to talk, but the conjurer wouldn't sit
on a chair by 'imself. He wouldn't sit on it at all. He seemed to be
all legs and arms, and the way 'e struggled it took four or five men to
'old 'im.

"Why don't you keep still?" ses John Biggs. "George Kettle'll shoot it
in your pocket all right. He's the best shot in Claybury."

"Help! Murder!" says the conjurer, struggling. "He'll kill me. Nobody
can do the trick but me."

"But you say you won't do it," ses John Biggs. "Not now," ses the
conjurer; "I can't."

"Well, I'm not going to 'ave my watch lost through want of trying," ses
John Biggs. "Tie 'im to the chair, mates."

"All right, then," ses the conjurer, very pale. "Don't tie me; I'll sit
still all right if you like, but you'd better bring the chair outside in
case of accidents. Bring it in the front."

George Kettle said it was all nonsense, but the conjurer said the trick
was always better done in the open air, and at last they gave way and
took 'im and the chair outside.

"Now," ses the conjurer, as 'e sat down, "all of you go and stand near
the man woe's going to shoot. When I say 'Three,' fire. Why! there's
the watch on the ground there!"

He pointed with 'is finger, and as they all looked down he jumped up out
o' that chair and set off on the road to Wickham as 'ard as 'e could run.
It was so sudden that nobody knew wot 'ad 'appened for a moment, and then
George Kettle, wot 'ad been looking with the rest, turned round and
pulled the trigger.

There was a bang that pretty nigh deafened us, and the back o' the chair
was blown nearly out. By the time we'd got our senses agin the conjurer
was a'most out o' sight, and Bob Pretty was explaining to John Biggs wot
a good job it was 'is watch 'adn't been a gold one.

"That's wot comes o' trusting a foreigner afore a man wot you've known
all your life," he ses, shaking his 'ead. "I 'ope the next man wot tries
to take my good name away won't get off so easy. I felt all along the
trick couldn't be done; it stands to reason it couldn't. I done my best,
too."

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Odd Charges, by W.W. Jacobs

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