Joe Clark was hunting for it 'igh and low, and so was 'is wife and the boys. In fact, I b'lieve that everybody in Claybury excepting the parson and Bob Pretty was trying to get that ten pounds.
O' course, we could understand the parson—'is pride wouldn't let 'im; but a low, poaching, thieving rascal like Bob Pretty turning up 'is nose at ten pounds was more than we could make out. Even on the second day, when George Barstow made it ten pounds down and a shilling a week for a year besides, he didn't offer to stir; all he did was to try and make fun o' them as was looking for it.
“Have you looked everywhere you can think of for it, Bill?” he ses to Bill Chambers. “Yes, I 'ave,” ses Bill.
“Well, then, you want to look everywhere else,” ses Bob Pretty. “I know where I should look if I wanted to find it.”
“Why don't you find it, then?” ses Bill.
“'Cos I don't want to make mischief,” ses Bob Pretty. “I don't want to be unneighbourly to Joe Clark by interfering at all.”
“Not for all that money?” ses Bill.
“Not for fifty pounds,” ses Bob Pretty; “you ought to know me better than that, Bill Chambers.”
“It's my belief that you know more about where that cat is than you ought to,” ses Joe Gubbins.
“You go on looking for it, Joe,” ses Bob Pretty, grinning; “it's good exercise for you, and you've only lost two days' work.”