Four Pigeons Page 3

most of the other, it 'ud come 'ard on you, wouldn't it? Alwaysthink afore you speak, Henery. I always do."

  Henery Walker got up and tried to speak, but 'e couldn't, and he didn'tget 'is breath back till Bob said it was plain to see that he 'adn't gota word to say for 'imself. Then he shook 'is fist at Bob and called 'ima low, thieving, poaching murderer.

  "You're not yourself, Henery," ses Bob. "When you come round you'll besorry for trying to take away the character of a pore labourin' man witha ailing wife and a large family. But if you take my advice you won'tsay anything more about your wicked ideas; if you do, these pore fellerswon't get a farthing. And you'd better keep quiet about the club matesfor their sakes. Other people might get the same crazy ideas in theirsilly 'eads as Henery. Keepers especially."

  That was on'y common sense; but, as John Biggs said, it did seem 'ard tothink as 'ow Bob Pretty should be allowed to get off scot-free, and withHenery Walker's five pounds too. "There's one thing," he ses to Bob;"you won't 'ave any of these other pore chaps money; and, if they're men,they ought to make it up to Henery Walker for the money he 'as saved 'emby finding you out."

  "They've got to pay me fust," ses Bob. "I'm a pore man, but I'll stickup for my rights. As for me shooting 'em, they'd ha' been 'urt a gooddeal more if I'd done it--especially Mr. Henery Walker. Why, they'rehardly 'urt at all."

  "Don't answer 'im, Henery," ses John Biggs. "You save your breath to goand tell Sam Jones and the others about it. It'll cheer 'em up."

  "And tell 'em about my arf, in case they get too cheerful and gooverdoing it," ses Bob Pretty, stopping at the door. "Good-night all."

  Nobody answered 'im; and arter waiting a little bit Henery Walker set offto see Sam Jones and the others. John Biggs was quite right about itsmaking 'em cheerful, but they see as plain as Bob 'imself that it 'ad gotto be kept quiet. "Till we've spent the money, at any rate," ses WalterBell; "then p'r'aps Mr. Sutton might get Bob locked up for it."

  Mr. Sutton went down to see 'em all a day or two afterwards. Theshooting-party was broken up and gone 'ome, but they left some moneybehind 'em. Ten pounds each they was to 'ave, same as the others, butMr. Sutton said that he 'ad heard 'ow the other money was wasted at the_Cauliflower,_ and 'e was going to give it out to 'em ten shillings aweek until the money was gorn. He 'ad to say it over and over agin aforethey understood 'im, and Walter Bell 'ad to stuff the bedclo'es in 'ismouth to keep civil.

  Peter Gubbins, with 'is arm tied up in a sling, was the fust one to turnup at the _Cauliflower,_ and he was that down-'arted about it we couldn'tdo nothing with 'im. He 'ad expected to be able to pull out ten goldensovereigns, and the disapp'intment was too much for 'im.

  "I wonder 'ow they heard about it," ses Dicky Weed.

  "I can tell you," ses Bob Pretty, wot 'ad been sitting up in a corner byhimself, nodding and smiling at Peter, wot wouldn't look at 'im. "Afriend o' mine at Wickham wrote to him about it. He was so disgusted atthe way Bill Chambers and Henery Walker come up 'ere wasting their'ard-earned money, that he sent 'im a letter, signed 'A Friend of theWorking Man,' telling 'im about it and advising 'im what to do."

  "A friend o' yours?" ses John Biggs, staring at 'im. "What for?"

  "I don't know," ses Bob; "he's a wunnerful good scholard, and he likeswritin' letters. He's going to write another to-morrer, unless I go overand stop 'im."

  "Another?" ses Peter, who 'ad been tellin' everybody that 'e wouldn'tspeak to 'im agin as long as he lived. "Wot about?"

  "About the idea that I shot you all," ses Bob. "I want my charactercleared. O' course, they can't prove anything against me--I've got mywitnesses. But, taking one thing with another, I see now that it doeslook suspicious, and I don't suppose any of you'll get any more of yourmoney. Mr. Sutton is so sick o' being laughed at, he'll jump atanything."

  "You dursn't do it, Bob," ses Peter, all of a tremble.

  "It ain't me, Peter, old pal," ses Bob, "it's my friend. But I don'tmind stopping 'im for the sake of old times if I get my arf. He'd listento me, I feel sure."

  At fust Peter said he wouldn't get a farthing out of 'im if his friendwrote letters till Dooms-day; but by-and-by he thought better of it, andasked Bob to stay there while he went down to see Sam and Walter aboutit. When 'e came back he'd got the fust week's money for Bob Pretty; buthe said he left Walter Bell carrying on like a madman, and, as for SamJones, he was that upset 'e didn't believe he'd last out the night.