“It's my belief that it's dead,” ses Joe, looking at 'im very 'ard; “but I want to make sure afore taking over the property.” Bob Pretty looked at 'im and then he gave a little cough. “Oh, you want it to be found dead,” he ses. “Now, I wonder whether that cat's worth most dead or alive?” Joe Clark coughed then. “Dead, I should think,” he ses at last. “George Barstow's just 'ad bills printed offering fifteen pounds for it,” ses Bob Pretty. “I'll give that or more when I come into the property,” ses Joe Clark. “There's nothing like ready-money, though, is there?” ses Bob. “I'll promise it to you in writing, Bob,” ses Joe, trembling. “There's some things that don't look well in writing, Joe,” says Bob Pretty, considering; “besides, why should you promise it to _me?_” “O' course, I meant if you found it,” ses Joe. “Well, I'll do my best, Joe,” ses Bob Pretty; “and none of us can do no more than that, can they?” They sat talking and argufying over it for over an hour, and twice Bob Pretty got up and said 'e was going to see whether George Barstow wouldn't offer more. By the time they parted they was as thick as thieves, and next morning Bob Pretty was wearing Joe Clark's watch and chain, and Mrs. Pretty was up at Joe's 'ouse to see whether there was any of 'is furniture as she 'ad a fancy for. She didn't seem to be able to make up 'er mind at fust between a chest o' drawers that 'ad belonged to Joe's mother and a grandfather clock. She walked from one to the other for about ten minutes, and then Bob, who 'ad come in to 'elp her, told 'er to 'ave both. “You're quite welcome,” he ses; “ain't she, Joe?” Joe Clark said “Yes,” and arter he 'ad helped them carry 'em 'ome the Prettys went back and took the best bedstead to pieces, cos Bob said as it was easier to carry that way. Mrs. Clark 'ad to go and sit down at the bottom o' the garden with the neck of 'er dress undone to give herself air, but when she saw the little Prettys each walking 'ome with one of 'er best chairs on their 'eads she got and walked up and down like a mad thing. “I'm sure I don't know where we are to put it all,” ses Bob Pretty to Joe Gubbins, wot was looking on with other folks, “but Joe Clark is that generous he won't 'ear of our leaving anything.” “Has 'e gorn mad?” ses Bill Chambers, staring at 'im. “Not as I knows on,” ses Bob Pretty. “It's 'is good-'artedness, that's all. He feels sure that that cat's dead, and that he'll 'ave George Barstow's cottage and furniture. I told 'im he'd better wait till he'd made sure, but 'e wouldn't.” Before they'd finished the Prettys 'ad picked that 'ouse as clean as a bone, and Joe Clark 'ad to go and get clean straw for his wife and children to sleep on; not that Mrs. Clark 'ad any sleep that night, nor Joe neither.