The fust Bob Pretty 'eard of it was up at the _Cauliflower_ at eight o'clock that evening, and he set down 'is beer and set off to see Henery as fast as 'is legs could carry 'im. Henery was asleep when 'e got there, and, do all he could, Bob Pretty couldn't wake 'im till he sat down gentle on 'is bad leg. “It's on'y me, old pal,” he ses, smiling at 'im as Henery woke up and shouted at 'im to get up. Henery Walker was going to say something bad, but 'e thought better of it, and he lay there arf busting with rage, and watching Bob out of the corner of one eye. “I quite forgot you was on my club till Smith reminded me of it,” ses Bob. “Don't you take a farthing less than ten pounds, Henery.” Henery Walker shut his eyes again. “I forgot to tell you I made up my mind this morning not to belong to your club any more, Bob,” he ses. “Why didn't you come and tell me, Henery, instead of leaving it till it was too late?” ses Bob, shaking his 'ead at 'im. “I shall want all that money,” ses Henery in a weak voice. “I might 'ave to have a wooden leg, Bob.” “Don't meet troubles arf way, Henery,” ses Bob, in a kind voice. “I've no doubt Mr. Sutton'll throw in a wooden leg if you want it, and look here, if he does, I won't trouble you for my arf of it.” He said good-night to Henery and went off, and when Mrs. Walker went up to see 'ow Henery was getting on he was carrying on that alarming that she couldn't do nothing with 'im. He was laid up for over a week, though it's my opinion he wasn't much hurt, and the trouble was that nobody knew which gentleman 'ad shot 'im. Mr. Sutton talked it over with them, and at last, arter a good deal o' trouble, and Henery pulling up 'is trousers and showing them 'is leg till they was fair sick of the sight of it, they paid 'im ten pounds, the same as they 'ad Bill. It took Bob Pretty two days to get his arf, but he kept very quiet about it, not wishing to make a fuss in the village for fear Mr. Sutton should get to hear of the club. At last he told Henery Walker that 'e was going to Wickham to see 'is lawyer about it, and arter Smith the landlord 'ad read the paper to Henery and explained 'ow he'd very likely 'ave to pay more than the whole ten pounds then, 'e gave Bob his arf and said he never wanted to see 'im again as long as he lived. Bob stood treat up at the _Cauliflower_ that night, and said 'ow bad he'd been treated. The tears stood in 'is eyes a'most, and at last 'e said that if 'e thought there was going to be any more fuss of that kind he'd wind up the club. “It's the best thing you can do,” ses Sam Jones; “I'm not going to belong to it any longer, so I give you notice. If so be as I get shot I want the money for myself.” “Me, too,” ses Peter Gubbins; “it 'ud fair break my 'art to give Bob Pretty five pounds. I'd sooner give it to my wife.”