“‘You’re a thief, Bob Pretty!’ says Henery Walker. ‘You stole it all.’ “‘Take care wot you’re saying, Henery,’ ses Bob Pretty, ‘else I’ll make you prove your words.’ “‘You stole my pig,’ ses Herbert Smith. “‘Oh, ’ave I?’ ses Bob, reaching down a ’and o’ pork. ‘Is that your pig?’ he ses. “‘It’s just about the size o’ my pore pig,’ ses Herbert Smith. “‘Very usual size, I call it,’ ses Bob Pretty; ‘and them ducks and hins very usual-looking hins and ducks, I call ’em, except that they don’t grow ’em so fat in these parts. It’s a fine thing when a man’s doing a honest bisness to ’ave these charges brought agin ’im. Dis’eartening, I call it. I don’t mind telling you that the tiger got in at my back winder the other night and took arf a pound o’ sausage, but you don’t ’ear me complaining and going about calling other people thieves.’ “‘Tiger be hanged,’ ses Henery Walker, who was almost certain that a loin o’ pork on the table was off ’is pig; ‘you’re the only tiger in these parts.’ “Why, Henery,’ ses Bob Pretty, ‘wot are you a-thinkin’ of? Where’s your memory? Why, it’s on’y two or three days ago you see it and ’ad to get up a tree out of its way.’ “He smiled and shook ’is ’ead at ’im, but Henery Walker on’y kept opening and shutting ’is mouth, and at last ’e went outside without saying a word. “‘And Sam Jones see it, too,’ ses Bob Pretty; ‘didn’t you, Sam?’ “Sam didn’t answer ’im. “‘And Charlie Hall and Jack Minns and a lot more,’ ses Bob; ‘besides, I see it myself. I can believe my own eyes, I s’pose?’ “‘We’ll have the law on you,’ ses Sam Jones. “‘As _you_ like,’ ses Bob Pretty; ‘but I tell you plain, I’ve got all the bills for this properly made out, upstairs. And there’s pretty near a dozen of you as’ll ’ave to go in the box and swear as you saw the tiger. Now, can I sell any of you a bit o’ pork afore you go? It’s delicious eating, and as soon as you taste it you’ll know it wasn’t grown in Claybury. Or a pair o’ ducks wot ’ave come from two ’undered miles off, and yet look as fresh as if they was on’y killed last night.’ “George Kettle, whose ducks ’ad gone the night afore, went into the front room and walked up and down fighting for ’is breath, but it was all no good; nobody ever got the better o’ Bob Pretty. None of ’em could swear to their property, and even when it became known a month later that Bob Pretty and the tramp knew each other, nothing was done. But nobody ever ’eard any more of the tiger from that day to this.” A MIXED PROPOSAL