"Bob Pretty 'ad a pint more beer to think it over, and arter Bill Chambers 'ad stood 'im another, he said 'e would. He seemed a bit dazed like, and by the time he went 'ome he 'ad made bets with thirteen of 'em. Being Saturday night they 'ad all got money on 'em, and, as for Bob, he always 'ad some. Smith took care of the money and wrote it all up on a slate.
"'Why don't you 'ave a bit on, Mr. Smith?' ses Dicky.
"'Oh, I dunno,' ses Smith, wiping down the bar with a wet cloth.
"'It's the chance of a lifetime,' ses Dicky.
"'Looks like it,' ses Smith, coughing.
"'But 'e can't win,' ses Sam Jones, looking a bit upset. 'Why, Mr. Bunnett said 'e ought to be locked up.'
"'He's been led away,' ses Bob Pretty, shaking his 'ead. 'He's a kind- 'arted old gen'leman when 'e's left alone, and he'll soon see wot a mistake 'e's made about me. I'll show 'im. But I wish it was something more useful than a gold watch.'
"'You ain't got it yet,' ses Bill Chambers.
"'No, mate,' ses Bob.
"'And you stand to lose a sight o' money,' ses Sam Jones. 'If you like, Bob Pretty, you can 'ave your bet back with me.'