“And where did the new winder curtains come from?” ses Peter Gubbins. Bob Pretty drank up ’is beer and stood looking at them very thoughtful; then he opened the door and went out without saying a word. “He’s got your great-uncle a prisoner in his ’ouse, Henery,” ses Bill Chambers; “it’s easy for to see that the pore old gentleman is getting past things, and I shouldn’t wonder if Bob Pretty don’t make ’im leave all ’is money to ’im.” Henery Walker started raving ag’in, and for the next few days he tried his ’ardest to get a few words with ’is great-uncle, but Bob Pretty was too much for ’im. Everybody in Claybury said wot a shame it was, but it was all no good, and Henery Walker used to leave ’is work and stand outside Bob Pretty’s for hours at a time in the ’opes of getting a word with the old man. He got ’is chance at last, in quite a unexpected way. We was up ’ere at the “Cauliflower” one evening, and, as it ’appened, we was talking about Henery Walker’s great-uncle, when the door opened, and who should walk in but the old gentleman ’imself. Everybody left off talking and stared at ’im, but he walked up to the bar and ordered a glass o’ gin and beer as comfortable as you please. Bill Chambers was the fust to get ’is presence of mind back, and he set off arter Henery Walker as fast as ’is legs could carry ’im, and in a wunnerful short time, considering, he came back with Henery, both of ’em puffing and blowing their ’ardest. “There—he—is!” ses Bill Chambers, pointing to the old gentleman. Henery Walker gave one look, and then ’e slipped over to the old man and stood all of a tremble, smiling at ’im. “Good-evening,” he ses. “Wot?” ses the old gentleman. “Good-evening!” ses Henery Walker ag’in. “I’m a bit deaf,” ses the old gentleman, putting his ’and to his ear. “GOOD-EVENING!” ses Henery Walker ag’in, shouting. “I’m your grand-nephew, Henery Walker!” “Ho, are you?” ses the old gentleman, not at all surprised. “Bob Pretty was telling me all about you.” “I ’ope you didn’t listen to ’im,” ses Henery Walker, all of a tremble. “Bob Pretty’d say anything except his prayers.” “He ses you’re arter my money,” ses the old gentleman, looking at ’im. “He’s a liar, then,” ses Henery Walker; “he’s arter it ’imself. And it ain’t a respectable place for you to stay at. Anybody’ll tell you wot a rascal Bob Pretty is. Why, he’s a byword.” “Everybody is arter my money,” ses the old gentleman, looking round. “Everybody.” “I ’ope you’ll know me better afore you’ve done with me, uncle,” ses Henery Walker, taking a seat alongside of Mm. “Will you ’ave another mug o’ beer?” “Gin and beer,” ses the old gentleman, cocking his eye up very fierce at Smith, the landlord; “and mind the gin don’t get out ag’in, same as it did in the last.”