and
poultry line and I took it. Now, all them as doesn't want to buy any
pork or fowls go out o' my house.'

"'You're a thief, Bob Pretty!' says Henery Walker. 'You stole it all.'

"'Take care wot you're saying, Henery,' ses Bob Pretty, 'else I'll make
you prove your words.'

"'You stole my pig,' ses Herbert Smith.

"'Oh, 'ave I?' ses Bob, reaching down a 'and o' pork. 'Is that your
pig?' he ses.

"'It's just about the size o' my pore pig,' ses Herbert Smith.

"'Very usual size, I call it,' ses Bob Pretty; 'and them ducks and hins
very usual-looking hins and ducks, I call 'em, except that they don't
grow 'em so fat in these parts. It's a fine thing when a man's doing a
honest bisness to 'ave these charges brought agin 'im. Dis'eartening, I
call it. I don't mind telling you that the tiger got in at my back
winder the other night and took arf a pound o' sausage, but you don't
'ear me complaining and going about calling other people thieves.'

"'Tiger be hanged,' ses Henery Walker, who was almost certain that a loin
o' pork on the table was off 'is pig; 'you're the only tiger in these
parts.'

"Why, Henery,' ses Bob Pretty, 'wot are you a-thinkin' of? Where's your
memory? Why, it's on'y two or three days ago you see it and 'ad to get
up a tree out of its way.'

"He smiled and shook 'is 'ead at 'im, but Henery Walker on'y kept opening
and shutting 'is mouth, and at last 'e went outside without saying a
word.

"'And Sam Jones see it, too,' ses Bob Pretty; 'didn't you, Sam?'

"Sam didn't answer 'im.

"'And Charlie Hall and Jack Minns and a lot more,' ses Bob; 'besides, I
see it myself. I can believe my own eyes, I s'pose?'

"'We'll have the law on you,' ses Sam Jones.

"'As you like,' ses Bob Pretty; 'but I tell you plain, I've got all the
bills for this properly made out, upstairs. And there's pretty near a
dozen of you as'll 'ave to go in the box and swear as you saw the tiger.
Now, can I sell any of you a bit o' pork afore you go? It's delicious
eating, and as soon as you taste it you'll know it wasn't grown in
Claybury. Or a pair o' ducks wot 'ave come from two 'undered miles off,
and yet look as fresh as if they was on'y killed last night.'

"George Kettle, whose ducks 'ad gone the night afore, went into the front
room and walked up and down fighting for 'is breath, but it was all no
good; nobody ever got the better o' Bob Pretty. None of 'em could swear
to their property, and even when i