Nobody believed that, o’ course, and things got more puzzling than ever. Once or twice the old gentleman went out for a walk, but Bob Pretty or ’is missis was always with ’im, and if anybody tried to speak to him they always said ’e was deaf and took ’im off as fast as they could. Then one night up at the “Cauliflower” here Dicky Weed came rushing in with a bit o’ news that took everybody’s breath away. “I’ve just come from the post-office,” he ses, “and there’s a letter for Bob Pretty’s old gentleman! Wot d’ye think o’ that?” “If you could tell us wot’s inside it you might ’ave something to brag about,” ses Henery Walker. “I don’t want to see the inside,” ses Dicky Weed; “the name on the outside was good enough for me. I couldn’t hardly believe my own eyes, but there it was: ‘Mr. Josiah Walker,’ as plain as the nose on your face.” O’ course, we see it all then, and wondered why we hadn’t thought of it afore; and we stood quiet listening to the things that Henery Walker said about a man that would go and steal another man’s great-uncle from ’im. Three times Smith, the landlord, said, “_Hush!_” and the fourth time he put Henery Walker outside and told ’im to stay there till he ’ad lost his voice. Henery Walker stayed outside five minutes, and then ’e come back in ag’in to ask for advice. His idea seemed to be that, as the old gentleman was deaf, Bob Pretty was passing ’isself off as Henery Walker, and the disgrace was a’most more than ’e could bear. He began to get excited ag’in, and Smith ’ad just said “_Hush!_” once more when we ’eard somebody whistling outside, and in come Bob Pretty. He ’ad hardly got ’is face in at the door afore Henery Walker started on ’im, and Bob Pretty stood there, struck all of a heap, and staring at ’im as though he couldn’t believe his ears. “’Ave you gone mad, Henery?” he ses, at last. “Give me back my great-uncle,” ses Henery Walker, at the top of ’is voice. Bob Pretty shook his ’ead at him. “I haven’t got your great-uncle, Henery,” he ses, very gentle. “I know the name is the same, but wot of it? There’s more than one Josiah Walker in the world. This one is no relation to you at all; he’s a very respectable old gentleman.” “I’ll go and ask ’im,” ses Henery Walker, getting up, “and I’ll tell ’im wot sort o’ man you are, Bob Pretty.” “He’s gone to bed now, Henery,” ses Bob Pretty. “I’ll come in the fust thing to-morrow morning, then,” ses Henery Walker. “Not in my ’ouse, Henery,” ses Bob Pretty; “not arter the things you’ve been sayin’ about me. I’m a pore man, but I’ve got my pride. Besides, I tell you he ain’t your uncle. He’s a pore old man I’m giving a ’ome to, and I won’t ’ave ’im worried.” “’Ow much does ’e pay you a week, Bob?” ses Bill Chambers. Bob Pretty pretended not to hear ’im. “Where did your wife get the money to buy that bonnet she ’ad on on Sunday?” ses Bill Chambers. “My wife ses it’s the fust new bonnet she has ’ad since she was married.”