“Come on,” ses Smith, the landlord. “Somebody must be fust.”
“Go on, George Kettle,” ses Bob Pretty. “You're sure to win. I 'ad a dream you did.”
“Go on yourself,” ses George.
“I never 'ave no luck,” ses Bob; “but if Henery Walker will draw fust, I'll draw second. Somebody must begin.”
“O' course they must,” ses Henery, “and if you're so anxious why don't you 'ave fust try?”
Bob Pretty tried to laugh it off, but they wouldn't 'ave it, and at last he takes out a pocket-'andkerchief and offers it to Smith, the landlord.
“All right, I'll go fust if you'll blindfold me,” he ses.
“There ain't no need for that, Bob,” ses Mr. Smith. “You can't see in the bag, and even if you could it wouldn't help you.”
“Never mind; you blindfold me,” ses Bob; “it'll set a good example to the others.”
Smith did it at last, and when Bob Pretty put his 'and in the bag and pulled out a paper you might ha' heard a pin drop.