Captains All and Others

“It does you credit, Joe Clark,” ses Bob Pretty.

“It’s my belief that it’s dead,” ses Joe, looking at ‘im very ‘ard; “but I want to make sure afore taking over the property.”

Bob Pretty looked at ‘im and then he gave a little cough. “Oh, you want it to be found dead,” he ses. “Now, I wonder whether that cat’s worth most dead or alive?”

Joe Clark coughed then. “Dead, I should think,” he ses at last. “George Barstow’s just ‘ad bills printed offering fifteen pounds for it,” ses Bob Pretty.

“I’ll give that or more when I come into the property,” ses Joe Clark.

“There’s nothing like ready-money, though, is there?” ses Bob.

“I’ll promise it to you in writing, Bob,” ses Joe, trembling.

“There’s some things that don’t look well in writing, Joe,” says Bob Pretty, considering; “besides, why should you promise it to me?”

“O’ course, I meant if you found it,” ses Joe.

“Well, I’ll do my best, Joe,” ses Bob Pretty; “and none of us can do no more than that, can they?”

They sat talking and argufying over it for over an hour, and twice Bob Pretty got up and said ‘e was going to see whether George Barstow wouldn’t offer more. By the time they parted they was as thick as thieves, and next morning Bob Pretty was wearing Joe Clark’s watch and chain, and Mrs. Pretty was up at Joe’s ‘ouse to see whether there was any of ‘is furniture as she ‘ad a fancy for.

She didn’t seem to be able to make up ‘er mind at fust between a chest o’ drawers that ‘ad belonged to Joe’s mother and a grand-father clock. She walked from one to the other for about ten minutes, and then Bob, who ‘ad come in to ‘elp her, told ‘er to ‘ave both.

“You’re quite welcome,” he ses; “ain’t she, Joe?”

Joe Clark said “Yes,” and arter he ‘ad helped them carry ‘em ‘ome the Prettys went back and took the best bedstead to pieces, cos Bob said as it was easier to carry that way. Mrs. Clark ‘ad to go and sit down at the bottom o’ the garden with the neck of ‘er dress undone to give herself air, but when she saw the little Prettys each walking ‘ome with one of ‘er best chairs on their ‘eads she got and walked up and down like a mad thing.

“I’m sure I don’t know where we are to put it all,” ses Bob Pretty to Joe Gubbins, wot was looking on with other folks, “but Joe Clark is that generous he won’t ‘ear of our leaving anything.”

“Has ‘e gorn mad?” ses Bill Chambers, staring at ‘im.

“Not as I knows on,” ses Bob Pretty. “It’s ‘is good-’artedness, that’s all. He feels sure that that cat’s dead, and that he’ll ‘ave George Barstow’s cottage and furniture. I told ‘im he’d better wait till he’d made sure, but ‘e wouldn’t.”

Before they’d finished the Prettys ‘ad picked that ‘ouse as clean as a bone, and Joe Clark ‘ad to go and get clean straw for his wife and children to sleep on; not that Mrs. Clark ‘ad any sleep that night, nor Joe neither.

Henery Walker was the fust to see what it really meant, and he went rushing off as fast as ‘e could run to tell George Barstow. George couldn’t believe ‘im at fust, but when ‘e did he swore that if a ‘air of that cat’s head was harmed ‘e’d ‘ave the law o’ Bob Pretty, and arter Henery Walker ‘ad gone ‘e walked round to tell ‘im so.

“You’re not yourself, George Barstow, else you wouldn’t try and take away my character like that,” ses Bob Pretty.

“Wot did Joe Clark give you all them things for?” ses George, pointing to the furniture.

“Took a fancy to me, I s’pose,” ses Bob. “People do sometimes. There’s something about me at times that makes ‘em like me.”

“He gave ‘em to you to kill my cat,” ses George Barstow. “It’s plain enough for any-body to see.”

Bob Pretty smiled. “I expect it’ll turn up safe and sound one o’ these days,” he ses, “and then you’ll come round and beg my pardon. P’r’aps—”

“P’r’aps wot?” ses George Barstow, arter waiting a bit.

“P’r’aps somebody ‘as got it and is keeping it till you’ve drawed the fifteen pounds out o’ the bank,” ses Bob, looking at ‘im very hard.

“I’ve taken it out o’ the bank,” ses George, starting; “if that cat’s alive, Bob, and you’ve got it, there’s the fifteen pounds the moment you ‘and it over.”

“Wot d’ye mean—me got it?” ses Bob Pretty. “You be careful o’ my character.”

“I mean if you know where it is,” ses George Barstow trembling all over.

“I don’t say I couldn’t find it, if that’s wot you mean,” ses Bob. “I can gin’rally find things when I want to.”

“You find me that cat, alive and well, and the money’s yours, Bob,” ses George, ‘ardly able to speak, now that ‘e fancied the cat was still alive.

Bob Pretty shook his ‘ead. “No; that won’t do,” he ses. “S’pose I did ‘ave the luck to find that pore animal, you’d say I’d had it all the time and refuse to pay.”

“I swear I wouldn’t, Bob,” ses George Barstow, jumping up.

“Best thing you can do if you want me to try and find that cat,” says Bob Pretty, “is to give me the fifteen pounds now, and I’ll go and look for it at once. I can’t trust you, George Barstow.”

“And I can’t trust you,” ses George Barstow.

“Very good,” ses Bob, getting up; “there’s no ‘arm done. P’r’aps Joe Clark ‘ll find the cat is dead and p’r’aps you’ll find it’s alive. It’s all one to me.”

George Barstow walked off ‘ome, but he was in such a state o’ mind ‘e didn’t know wot to do. Bob Pretty turning up ‘is nose at fifteen pounds like that made ‘im think that Joe Clark ‘ad promised to pay ‘im more if the cat was dead; and at last, arter worrying about it for a couple o’ hours, ‘e came up to this ‘ere Cauliflower and offered Bob the fifteen pounds.

“Wot’s this for?” ses Bob.

“For finding my cat,” ses George.

“Look here,” ses Bob, handing it back, “I’ve ‘ad enough o’ your insults; I don’t know where your cat is.”

“I mean for trying to find it, Bob,” ses George Barstow.

“Oh, well, I don’t mind that,” ses Bob, taking it. “I’m a ‘ard-working man, and I’ve got to be paid for my time; it’s on’y fair to my wife and children. I’ll start now.”

He finished up ‘is beer, and while the other chaps was telling George Barstow wot a fool he was Joe Clark slipped out arter Bob Pretty and began to call ‘im all the names he could think of.

“Don’t you worry,” ses Bob; “the cat ain’t found yet.”

“Is it dead?” ses Joe Clark, ‘ardly able to speak.

“‘Ow should I know?” ses Bob; “that’s wot I’ve got to try and find out. That’s wot you gave me your furniture for, and wot George Barstow gave me the fifteen pounds for, ain’t it? Now, don’t you stop me now, ‘cos I’m goin’ to begin looking.”

He started looking there and then, and for the next two or three days George Barstow and Joe Clark see ‘im walking up and down with his ‘ands in ‘is pockets looking over garden fences and calling “Puss.” He asked everybody ‘e see whether they ‘ad seen a white cat with one blue eye and one yaller one, and every time ‘e came into the Cauliflower he put his ‘ead over the bar and called “Puss,” ‘cos, as ‘e said, it was as likely to be there as anywhere else.

It was about a week after the cat ‘ad disappeared that George Barstow was standing at ‘is door talking to Joe Clark, who was saying the cat must be dead and ‘e wanted ‘is property, when he sees a man coming up the road carrying a basket stop and speak to Bill Chambers. Just as ‘e got near them an awful “miaow” come from the basket and George Barstow and Joe Clark started as if they’d been shot.

“He’s found it?” shouts Bill Chambers, pointing to the man.

“It’s been living with me over at Ling for a week pretty nearly,” ses the man. “I tried to drive it away several times, not knowing that there was fifteen pounds offered for it.”