"As you please, Henery," ses Bob Pretty. "Only I'm going straight off to Cudford to see Policeman White; he'll be glad of a job, I know. There's three of us to swear to it, and you was found under my bed." "Let bygones be bygones, Bob," ses Bill Chambers, trying to smile at 'im. "No, mate," ses Bob Pretty. "I'm going to 'ave my rights, but I don't want to be 'ard on a man I've known all my life; and if, afore I go to my bed to-night, the thirty shillings is brought to me, I won't say as I won't look over it." He stood for a moment shaking his 'ead at them, and then, still holding it very 'igh, he turned round and walked out. "He never left no money on the mantelpiece," ses Sam Jones, at last. "Don't you believe it. You go to jail, Henery." "Anything sooner than be done by Bob Pretty," ses George Kettle. "There's not much doing now, Henery," ses Bill Chambers, in a soft voice. Henery Walker wouldn't listen to 'em, and he jumped up and carried on like a madman. His idea was for 'em all to club together to pay the money, and to borrow it from Smith, the landlord, to go on with. They wouldn't 'ear of it at fust, but arter Smith 'ad pointed out that they might 'ave to go to jail with Henery, and said things about 'is license, they gave way. Bob Pretty was just starting off to see Policeman White when they took the money, and instead o' telling 'im wot they thought of 'im, as they 'ad intended, Henery Walker 'ad to walk alongside of 'im and beg and pray of 'im to take the money. He took it at last as a favor to Henery, and bought the hamper back with it next morning--cheap. Leastways, he said so. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Prize Money, by W.W. Jacobs