by W. W. Jacobs
The old man took up his mug and shifted along the bench until he was inthe shade of the elms that stood before the Cauliflower. The action alsohad the advantage of bringing him opposite the two strangers who wererefreshing themselves after the toils of a long walk in the sun.
"My hearing ain't wot it used to be," he said, tremulously. "When youasked me to have a mug o' ale I 'ardly heard you; and if you was to askme to 'ave another, I mightn't hear you at all."
One of the men nodded.
"Not over there," piped the old man. "That's why I come over here," headded, after a pause. "It 'ud be rude like to take no notice; if you wasto ask me."
He looked round as the landlord approached, and pushed his mug gently inhis direction. The landlord, obeying a nod from the second stranger,filled it.
"It puts life into me," said the old man, raising it to his lips andbowing. "It makes me talk."
"Time we were moving, Jack," said the first traveller. The second,assenting to this as an abstract proposition, expressed, however, adetermination to finish his pipe first.
I heard you saying something about shooting, continued the old man, andthat reminds me of some shooting we 'ad here once in Claybury. We'vealways 'ad a lot o' game in these parts, and if it wasn't for a low,poaching fellow named Bob Pretty--Claybury's disgrace I call 'im--we'd'ave a lot more.
It happened in this way. Squire Rockett was going abroad to foreignparts for a year, and he let the Hall to a gentleman from London namedSutton. A real gentleman 'e was, open-'anded and free, and just aboutOctober he 'ad a lot of 'is friends come down from London to 'elp 'imkill the pheasants.
The first day they frightened more than they killed, but they enjoyedtheirselves all right until one gentleman, who 'adn't shot a singlething all day, shot pore Bill Chambers wot was beating with about adozen more.
Bill got most of it in the shoulder and a little in the cheek, but therow he see fit to make you'd ha' thought he'd been killed. He laid onthe ground groaning with 'is eyes shut, and everybody thought 'e wasdying till Henery Walker stooped down and asked 'im whether 'e was hurt.
It took four men to carry Bill 'ome, and he was that particular youwouldn't believe. They 'ad to talk in whispers, and when Peter Gubbinsforgot 'imself and began to whistle he asked him where his 'art was.When they walked fast he said they jolted 'im, and when they walked slow'e asked 'em whether they'd gone to sleep or wot.
Bill was in bed for nearly a week, but the gentleman was very nice aboutit and said that it was his fault. He was a very pleasant-spokengentleman, and, arter sending Dr. Green to him and saying he'd pay thebill, 'e gave Bill Chambers ten pounds to make up for 'is sufferings.
Bill 'ad intended to lay up for another week, and the doctor, wot 'adbeen calling twice a day, said he wouldn't be responsible for 'is lifeif he didn't; but the ten pounds was too much for 'im, and one evening,just a week arter the accident, he turned up at this Cauliflowerpublic-'ouse and began to spend 'is money.
His face was bandaged up, and when 'e come in he walked feeble-like andspoke in a faint sort o' voice. Smith, the landlord, got 'im aeasy-chair and a couple of pillers out o' the parlour, and Bill satthere like a king, telling us all his sufferings and wot it felt like tobe shot.
I always have said wot a good thing beer is, and it done Bill more goodthan doctor's medicine. When he came in he could 'ardly crawl, and atnine o'clock 'e was out of the easy-chair and dancing on the table aswell as possible. He smashed three mugs and upset about two pints o'beer, but he just put his 'and in his pocket and paid for 'em without aword.
"There's plenty more where that came from," he ses, pulling out ahandful o' money.
Peter Gubbins looked at it, 'ardly able to speak. "It's worth whilebeing shot to 'ave all that money," he ses, at last.
"Don't you worry yourself, Peter," ses Bob Pretty; "there's plenty moreof you as'll be shot afore them gentlemen at the Hall 'as finished.Bill's the fust, but 'e won't be the last--not by a long chalk."
"They're more careful now," ses Dicky Weed, the tailor.
"All right; 'ave it your own way," ses Bob, nasty-like. "I don't knowmuch about shooting, being on'y a pore labourin' man. All I know is Ishouldn't like to go beating for them. I'm too fond o' my wife andfamily."
"There won't be no more shot," ses Sam Jones.
"We're too careful," ses Peter Gubbins.
"Bob Pretty don't know everything," ses Dicky Weed.
"I'll bet you what you like there'll be some more of you shot," ses BobPretty, in a temper. "Now, then."
"'Ow much'll you bet, Bob," ses Sam Jones, with a wink at the others. "Ican see you winking, Sam Jones," ses Bob Pretty, "but I'll do more thanbet. The last bet I won is still owing to me. Now, look 'ere; I'll payyou sixpence a week all the time you're beating if you promise to giveme arf of wot you get if you're shot. I can't say fairer than that."
"Will you give me sixpence a week, too?" ses Henery Walker, jumping up.
"I will," ses Bob; "and anybody else that likes. And wot's more, I'llpay in advance. Fust sixpences now."
Claybury men 'ave never been backward when there's been money to be madeeasy, and they all wanted to join Bob Pretty's club, as he called it.But fust of all 'e asked for a pen and ink, and then he got Smith, theland-lord, being a scholard, to write out a paper for them to sign.Henery Walker was the fust to write 'is name, and then Sam Jones, PeterGubbins, Ralph Thomson, Jem Hall, and Walter Bell wrote theirs. Bobstopped 'em then, and said six 'ud be enough to go on with; and then 'epaid up the sixpences and wished 'em luck.
Wot they liked a'most as well as the sixpences was the idea o' gettingthe better o' Bob Pretty. As I said afore, he was a poacher, and thatartful that up to that time nobody 'ad ever got the better of 'im.
They made so much fun of 'im the next night that Bob turned sulky andwent off 'ome, and for two or three nights he 'ardly showed his face;and the next shoot they 'ad he went off to Wickham and nobody saw 'imall day.
That very day Henery Walker was shot. Several gentlemen fired at arabbit that was started, and the next thing they knew Henery Walker waslying on the ground calling out that 'is leg 'ad been shot off.
He made more fuss than Bill Chambers a'most, 'specially when theydropped 'im off a hurdle carrying him 'ome, and the things he said toDr. Green for rubbing his 'ands as he came into the bedroom wasdisgraceful.
The fust Bob Pretty 'eard of it was up at the Cauliflower at eighto'clock that evening, and he set down 'is beer and set off to see Heneryas fast as 'is legs could carry 'im. Henery was asleep when 'e gotthere, and, do all he could, Bob Pretty couldn't wake 'im till he satdown gentle on 'is bad leg.
"It's on'y me, old pal," he ses, smiling at 'im as Henery woke up andshouted at 'im to get up.
Henery Walker was going to say something bad, but 'e thought better ofit, and he lay there arf busting with rage, and watching Bob out of thecorner of one eye.
"I quite forgot you was on my club till Smith reminded me of it," sesBob. "Don't you take a farthing less than ten pounds, Henery."
Henery Walker shut his eyes again. "I forgot to tell you I made up mymind this morning not to belong to your club any more, Bob," he ses.
"Why didn't you come and tell me, Henery, instead of leaving it till itwas too late?" ses Bob, shaking his 'ead at 'im.
"I shall want all that money," ses Henery in a weak voice. "I might 'aveto have a wooden leg, Bob."
"Don't meet troubles arf way, Henery," ses Bob, in a kind voice. "I'veno doubt Mr. Sutton'll throw in a wooden leg if you want it, and lookhere, if he does, I won't trouble you for my arf of it."
He said good-night to Henery and went off, and when Mrs. Walker went upto see 'ow Henery was getting on he was carrying on that alarming thatshe couldn't do nothing with 'im.
He was laid up for over a week, though it's my opinion he wasn't muchhurt, and the trouble was that nobody knew which gentleman 'ad shot 'im.Mr. Sutton talked it over with them, and at last, arter a good deal o'trouble, and Henery pulling up 'is trouse
rs and showing them 'is legtill they was fair sick of the sight of it, they paid 'im ten pounds,the same as they 'ad Bill.
It took Bob Pretty two days to get his arf, but he kept very quiet aboutit, not wishing to make a fuss in the village for fear Mr. Sutton shouldget to hear of the club. At last he told Henery Walker that 'e was goingto Wickham to see 'is lawyer about it, and arter Smith the landlord 'adread the paper to Henery and explained 'ow he'd very likely 'ave to paymore than the whole ten pounds then, 'e gave Bob his arf and said henever wanted to see 'im again as long as he lived.
Bob stood treat up at the Cauliflower that night, and said 'ow bad he'dbeen treated. The tears stood in 'is eyes a'most, and at last 'e saidthat if 'e thought there was going to be any more fuss of that kind he'dwind up the club.
"It's the best thing you can do," ses Sam Jones; "I'm not going tobelong to it any longer, so I give you notice. If so be as I get shot Iwant the money for myself."
"Me, too," ses Peter Gubbins; "it 'ud fair break my 'art to give BobPretty five pounds. I'd sooner give it to my wife."
All the other chaps said the same thing, but Bob pointed out to themthat they 'ad taken their sixpences on'y the night afore, and they muststay in for the week. He said that was the law. Some of 'em talked aboutgiving 'im 'is sixpences back, but Bob said if they did they must pay upall the sixpences they had 'ad for three weeks. The end of it was theysaid they'd stay in for that week and not a moment longer.
The next day Sam Jones and Peter Gubbins altered their minds. Sam founda couple o' shillings that his wife 'ad hidden in her Sunday bonnet, andPeter Gubbins opened 'is boy's money-box to see 'ow much there was init. They came up to the Cauliflower to pay Bob their eighteen-pences,but he wasn't there, and when they went to his 'ouse Mrs. Pretty said as'ow he'd gone off to Wickham and wouldn't be back till Saturday. So they'ad to spend the money on beer instead.
That was on Tuesday, and things went on all right till Friday, when Mr.Sutton 'ad another shoot. The birds was getting scarce and the gentlementhat anxious to shoot them there was no 'olding them. Once or twice thekeepers spoke to 'em about carefulness, and said wot large familiesthey'd got, but it wasn't much good. They went on blazing away, and justat the corner of the wood Sam Jones and Peter Gubbins was both hit; Samin the leg and Peter in the arm.
The noise that was made was awful--everybody shouting that they 'adn'tdone it, and all speaking at once, and Mr. Sutton was dancing abouta'most beside 'imself with rage. Pore Sam and Peter was 'elped along bythe others; Sam being carried and Peter led, and both of 'em with theidea of getting all they could out of it, making such 'orrible noisesthat Mr. Sutton couldn't hear 'imself calling his friends names.
"There seems to be wounded men calling out all over the place," he ses,in a temper.
"I think there is another one over there, sir," ses one o' the keepers,pointing.
Sam Jones and Peter Gubbins both left off to listen, and then they allheard it distinctly. A dreadful noise it was, and when Mr. Sutton andone or two more follered it up they found poor Walter Bell lying on 'isface in a bramble.
"Wot's the matter?" ses Mr. Sutton, shouting at 'im.
"I've been shot from behind," ses Walter. "I'd got something in my boot,and I was just stooping down to fasten it up agin when I got it.
"But there oughtn't to be anybody 'ere," ses Mr. Sutton to one of thekeepers.
"They get all over the place, sir," ses the 'keeper, scratching his'ead. "I fancied I 'eard a gun go off here a minute or two arter theothers was shot."
"I believe he's done it 'imself," says Mr. Sutton, stamping his foot.
"I don't see 'ow he could, sir," ses the keeper, touching his cap andlooking at Walter as was still lying with 'is face on 'is arms.
They carried Walter 'ome that way on a hurdle, and Dr. Green spent allthe rest o' that day picking shots out o' them three men and telling 'emto keep still. He 'ad to do Sam Jones by candle-light, with Mrs. Jones'olding the candle with one hand and crying with the other. Twice thedoctor told her to keep it steady, and poor Sam 'ad only just passed theremark, "How 'ot it was for October," when they discovered that the bedwas on fire. The doctor said that Sam was no trouble. He got off of thebed by 'imself, and, when it was all over and the fire put out, thedoctor found him sitting on the stairs with the leg of a broken chair in'is hand calling for 'is wife.
Of course, there was a terrible to-do about it in Claybury, and up atthe Hall, too. All of the gentlemen said as 'ow they hadn't done it, andMr. Sutton was arf crazy with rage. He said that they 'ad made 'im thelaughing-stock of the neighbourhood, and that they oughtn't to shootwith anything but pop-guns. They got to such high words over it that twoof the gentlemen went off 'ome that very night.
There was a lot of talk up at the Cauliflower, too, and more than onepointed out 'ow lucky Bob Pretty was in getting four men out of the sixin his club. As I said afore, Bob was away at the time, but he came backthe next night and we 'ad the biggest row here you could wish for tosee.
Henery Walker began it. "I s'pose you've 'eard the dreadful news, BobPretty?" he ses, looking at 'im.
"I 'ave," ses Bob; "and my 'art bled for 'em. I told you wot thosegentlemen was like, didn't I? But none of you would believe me. Now youcan see as I was right."
"It's very strange," ses Henery Walker, looking round; "it's verystrange that all of us wot's been shot belonged to Bob Pretty's preciousclub."
"It's my luck, Henery," ses Bob, "always was lucky from a child."
"And I s'pose you think you're going to 'ave arf of the money they get?"ses Henery Walker.
"Don't talk about money while them pore chaps is suffering," ses Bob."I'm surprised at you, Henery."
"You won't 'ave a farthing of it," ses Henery Walker; "and wot's more,Bob Pretty, I'm going to 'ave my five pounds back."
"Don't you believe it, Henery," ses Bob, smiling at 'im.
"I'm going to 'ave my five pounds back," ses Henery, "and you know why.I know wot your club was for now, and we was all a pack o' silly foolsnot to see it afore."
"Speak for yourself, Henery," ses John Biggs, who thought Henery waslooking at 'im.
"I've been putting two and two together," ses Henery, looking round,"and it's as plain as the nose on your face. Bob Pretty hid up in thewood and shot us all himself!"
For a moment you might 'ave heard a pin drop, and then there was such anoise nobody could hear theirselves speak. Everybody was shouting his'ardest, and the on'y quiet one there was Bob Pretty 'imself.
"Poor Henery; he's gorn mad," he ses, shaking his 'ead.
"You're a murderer," ses Ralph Thomson, shaking 'is fist at him.
"Henery Walker's gorn mad," ses Bob agin. "Why, I ain't been near theplace. There's a dozen men'll swear that I was at Wickham each timethese misfortunate accidents 'appened."
"Men like you, they'd swear anything for a pot o' beer," ses Henery."But I'm not going to waste time talking to you, Bob Pretty. I'm goingstraight off to tell Mr. Sutton."
"I shouldn't do that if I was you, Henery," ses Bob.
"I dessay," ses Henery Walker; "but then you see I am."
"I thought you'd gorn mad, Henery," ses Bob, taking a drink o' beer thatsomebody 'ad left on the table by mistake, "and now I'm sure of it. Why,if you tell Mr. Sutton that it wasn't his friends that shot them porefellers he won't pay them anything. 'Tain't likely 'e would, is it?"
Henery Walker, wot 'ad been standing up looking fierce at 'im, sat downagin, struck all of a heap.
"And he might want your ten pounds back, Henery," said Bob in a softvoice. "And seeing as 'ow you was kind enough to give five to me, andspent most of the other, it 'ud come 'ard on you, wouldn't it? Alwaysthink afore you speak, Henery. I always do."
Henery Walker got up and tried to speak, but 'e couldn't, and he didn'tget 'is breath back till Bob said it was plain to see that he 'adn't gota word to say for 'imself. Then he shook 'is fist at Bob and called 'ima low, thieving, poaching murderer.
"You're not yourself, Henery," ses
Bob. "When you come round you'll besorry for trying to take away the character of a pore labourin' man witha ailing wife and a large family. But if you take my advice you won'tsay anything more about your wicked ideas; if you do, these pore fellerswon't get a farthing. And you'd better keep quiet about the club matesfor their sakes. Other people might get the same crazy ideas in theirsilly 'eads as Henery. Keepers especially."
That was on'y common sense; but, as John Biggs said, it did seem 'ard tothink as 'ow Bob Pretty should be allowed to get off scot-free, and withHenery Walker's five pounds too. "There's one thing," he ses to Bob;"you won't 'ave any of these other pore chaps money; and, if they'remen, they ought to make it up to Henery Walker for the money he 'assaved 'em by finding you out."
"They've got to pay me fust," ses Bob. "I'm a pore man, but I'll stickup for my rights. As for me shooting 'em, they'd ha' been 'urt a gooddeal more if I'd done it--especially Mr. Henery Walker. Why, they'rehardly 'urt at all."
"Don't answer 'im, Henery," ses John Biggs. "You save your breath to goand tell Sam Jones and the others about it. It'll cheer 'em up."
"And tell 'em about my arf, in case they get too cheerful and gooverdoing it," ses Bob Pretty, stopping at the door. "Good-night all."
Nobody answered 'im; and arter waiting a little bit Henery Walker setoff to see Sam Jones and the others. John Biggs was quite right aboutits making 'em cheerful, but they see as plain as Bob 'imself that it'ad got to be kept quiet. "Till we've spent the money, at any rate," sesWalter Bell; "then p'r'aps Mr. Sutton might get Bob locked up for it."
Mr. Sutton went down to see 'em all a day or two afterwards. Theshooting-party was broken up and gone 'ome, but they left some moneybehind 'em. Ten pounds each they was to 'ave, same as the others, butMr. Sutton said that he 'ad heard 'ow the other money was wasted at theCauliflower, and 'e was going to give it out to 'em ten shillings a weekuntil the money was gorn. He 'ad to say it over and over agin afore theyunderstood 'im, and Walter Bell 'ad to stuff the bedclo'es in 'is mouthto keep civil.
Peter Gubbins, with 'is arm tied up in a sling, was the fust one to turnup at the Cauliflower, and he was that down-'arted about it we couldn'tdo nothing with 'im. He 'ad expected to be able to pull out ten goldensovereigns, and the disapp'intment was too much for 'im.
"I wonder 'ow they heard about it," ses Dicky Weed.
"I can tell you," ses Bob Pretty, wot 'ad been sitting up in a corner byhimself, nodding and smiling at Peter, wot wouldn't look at 'im. "Afriend o' mine at Wickham wrote to him about it. He was so disgusted atthe way Bill Chambers and Henery Walker come up 'ere wasting their'ard-earned money, that he sent 'im a letter, signed 'A Friend of theWorking Man,' telling 'im about it and advising 'im what to do."
"A friend o' yours?" ses John Biggs, staring at 'im. "What for?"
"I don't know," ses Bob; "he's a wunnerful good scholard, and he likeswritin' letters. He's going to write another to-morrer, unless I go overand stop 'im."
"Another?" ses Peter, who 'ad been tellin' everybody that 'e wouldn'tspeak to 'im agin as long as he lived. "Wot about?"
"About the idea that I shot you all," ses Bob. "I want my charactercleared. O' course, they can't prove anything against me--I've got mywitnesses. But, taking one thing with another, I see now that it doeslook suspicious, and I don't suppose any of you'll get any more of yourmoney. Mr. Sutton is so sick o' being laughed at, he'll jump atanything."
"You dursn't do it, Bob," ses Peter, all of a tremble.
"It ain't me, Peter, old pal," ses Bob, "it's my friend. But I don'tmind stopping 'im for the sake of old times if I get my arf. He'd listento me, I feel sure."
At fust Peter said he wouldn't get a farthing out of 'im if his friendwrote letters till Dooms-day; but by-and-by he thought better of it, andasked Bob to stay there while he went down to see Sam and Walter aboutit. When 'e came back he'd got the fust week's money for Bob Pretty; buthe said he left Walter Bell carrying on like a madman, and, as for SamJones, he was that upset 'e didn't believe he'd last out the night.
THE TEMPTATION OF SAMUEL BURGE