shamming, or
whether 'e was really shot, but they was all quite certain that,
whichever way it was, Dicky Weed would never see 'is watch agin.

On the Saturday evening this 'ere Cauliflower public-'ouse was crowded,
everybody being anxious to see the watch trick done over agin. We had
'eard that it 'ad been done all right at Cudford and Monksham; but Bob
Pretty said as 'ow he'd believe it when 'e saw it, and not afore.

He was one o' the fust to turn up that night, because 'e said 'e wanted
to know wot the conjurer was going to pay him for all 'is pain and
suffering and having things said about 'is character. He came in leaning
on a stick, with 'is face still bandaged, and sat right up close to the
conjurer's table, and watched him as 'ard as he could as 'e went through
'is tricks.

"And now," ses the conjurer, at last, "I come to my celebrated watch
trick. Some of you as wos 'ere last Tuesday when I did it will remember
that the man I fired the pistol at pretended that 'e'd been shot and run
off 'ome with it in 'is pocket."

"You're a liar!" ses Bob Pretty, standing up. "Very good," ses the
conjurer; "you take that bandage off and show us all where you're hurt."

"I shall do nothing o' the kind," ses Bob. I don't take my orders from
you."

"Take the bandage off," ses the conjurer, "and if there's any shot marks
I'll give you a couple o' sovereigns."

"I'm afraid of the air getting to it," ses Bob Pretty.

"You don't want to be afraid o' that, Bob," ses John Biggs, the
blacksmith, coming up behind and putting 'is great arms round 'im. "Take
off that rag, somebody; I've got hold of 'im."

Bob Pretty started to struggle at fust, but then, seeing it was no good,
kept quite quiet while they took off the bandages.

"There! look at 'im," ses the conjurer, pointing. "Not a mark on 'is
face, not one."

"Wet!" ses Bob Pretty. "Do you mean to say there's no marks?"

"I do," ses the conjurer.

"Thank goodness," ses Bob Pretty, clasping his 'ands. "Thank goodness!
I was afraid I was disfigured for life. Lend me a bit o' looking-glass,
somebody. I can 'ardly believe it."

"You stole Dicky Weed's watch," ses John Biggs. "I 'ad my suspicions of
you all along. You're a thief, Bob Pretty. That's wot you are."

"Prove it," ses Bob Pretty. "You 'eard wot the conjurer said the other
night, that the last time he tried 'e failed, and 'ad to give
eighteenpence to the man wot the watch 'ad belonged to."

"