They carried Walter 'ome that way on a hurdle, and Dr. Green spent all the rest o' that day picking shots out o' them three men and telling 'em to keep still. He 'ad to do Sam Jones by candle-light, with Mrs. Jones 'olding the candle with one hand and crying with the other. Twice the doctor told her to keep it steady, and poor Sam 'ad only just passed the remark, “How 'ot it was for October,” when they discovered that the bed was on fire. The doctor said that Sam was no trouble. He got off of the bed by 'imself, and, when it was all over and the fire put out, the doctor found him sitting on the stairs with the leg of a broken chair in 'is hand calling for 'is wife. Of course, there was a terrible to-do about it in Claybury, and up at the Hall, too. All of the gentlemen said as 'ow they hadn't done it, and Mr. Sutton was arf crazy with rage. He said that they 'ad made 'im the laughing-stock of the neighbourhood, and that they oughtn't to shoot with anything but pop-guns. They got to such high words over it that two of the gentlemen went off 'ome that very night. There was a lot of talk up at the _Cauliflower_, too, and more than one pointed out 'ow lucky Bob Pretty was in getting four men out of the six in his club. As I said afore, Bob was away at the time, but he came back the next night and we 'ad the biggest row here you could wish for to see. Henery Walker began it. “I s'pose you've 'eard the dreadful news, Bob Pretty?” he ses, looking at 'im. “I 'ave,” ses Bob; “and my 'art bled for 'em. I told you wot those gentlemen was like, didn't I? But none of you would believe me. Now you can see as I was right.” “It's very strange,” ses Henery Walker, looking round; “it's very strange that all of us wot's been shot belonged to Bob Pretty's precious club.” “It's my luck, Henery,” ses Bob, “always was lucky from a child.” “And I s'pose you think you're going to 'ave arf of the money they get?” ses Henery Walker. “Don't talk about money while them pore chaps is suffering,” ses Bob. “I'm surprised at you, Henery.” “You won't 'ave a farthing of it,” ses Henery Walker; “and wot's more, Bob Pretty, I'm going to 'ave my five pounds back.” “Don't you believe it, Henery,” ses Bob, smiling at 'im. “I'm going to 'ave my five pounds back,” ses Henery, “_and you know why_. I know wot your club was for now, and we was all a pack o' silly fools not to see it afore.” “Speak for yourself, Henery,” ses John Biggs, who thought Henery was looking at 'im. “I've been putting two and two together,” ses Henery, looking round, “and it's as plain as the nose on your face. Bob Pretty hid up in the wood and shot us all himself!” For a moment you might 'ave heard a pin drop, and then there was such a noise nobody could hear theirselves speak. Everybody was shouting his 'ardest, and the on'y quiet one there was Bob Pretty 'imself. “Poor Henery; he's gorn mad,” he ses, shaking his 'ead. “You're a murderer,” ses Ralph Thomson, shaking 'is fist at him.