“George Kettle opened the door wot led into the kitchen, and then ’e sprang back with such a shout that the man with the scythe tried to escape, taking Henery Walker along with ’im. George Kettle tried to speak, but couldn’t. All ’e could do was to point with ’is finger at Bob Pretty’s kitchen—and Bob Pretty’s kitchen was for all the world like a pork-butcher’s shop. There was joints o’ pork ’anging from the ceiling, two brine tubs as full as they could be, and quite a string of fowls and ducks all ready for market.
“‘Wot d’ye mean by coming into my ’ouse?’ ses Bob Pretty, blustering. ‘If you don’t clear out pretty quick, I’ll make you.’
“Nobody answered ’im; they was all examining ’ands o’ pork and fowls and such-like.
“‘There’s the tiger,’ ses Henery Walker, pointing at Bob Pretty; ‘that’s wot old man Parsley meant.’
“‘Somebody go and fetch Policeman White,’ ses a voice.
“‘I wish they would,’ ses Bob Pretty. ‘I’ll ’ave the law on you all for breaking into my ’ouse like this, see if I don’t.’
“‘Where’d you get all this pork from?’ ses the blacksmith.
“‘And them ducks and hins?’ ses George Kettle.
“‘That’s my bisness,’ ses Bob Pretty, staring ’em full in the face. ‘I just ’ad a excellent oppertunity offered me of going into the pork and poultry line and I took it. Now, all them as doesn’t want to buy any pork or fowls go out o’ my house.’
“‘You’re a thief, Bob Pretty!’ says Henery Walker. ‘You stole it all.’