rful good scholard, and he likes
writin' letters. He's going to write another to-morrer, unless I go over
and stop 'im."

"Another?" ses Peter, who 'ad been tellin' everybody that 'e wouldn't
speak to 'im agin as long as he lived. "Wot about?"

"About the idea that I shot you all," ses Bob. "I want my character
cleared. O' course, they can't prove anything against me--I've got my
witnesses. But, taking one thing with another, I see now that it does
look suspicious, and I don't suppose any of you'll get any more of your
money. Mr. Sutton is so sick o' being laughed at, he'll jump at
anything."

"You dursn't do it, Bob," ses Peter, all of a tremble.

"It ain't me, Peter, old pal," ses Bob, "it's my friend. But I don't
mind stopping 'im for the sake of old times if I get my arf. He'd listen
to me, I feel sure."

At fust Peter said he wouldn't get a farthing out of 'im if his friend
wrote letters till Dooms-day; but by-and-by he thought better of it, and
asked Bob to stay there while he went down to see Sam and Walter about
it. When 'e came back he'd got the fust week's money for Bob Pretty; but
he said he left Walter Bell carrying on like a madman, and, as for Sam
Jones, he was that upset 'e didn't believe he'd last out the night.

THE TEMPTATION OF SAMUEL BURGE

[Illustration: "The Temptation of Samuel Burge."]

Mr. Higgs, jeweller, sat in the small parlour behind his shop, gazing
hungrily at a supper-table which had been laid some time before. It was
a quarter to ten by the small town clock on the mantelpiece, and the
jeweller rubbing his hands over the fire tried in vain to remember what
etiquette had to say about starting a meal before the arrival of an
expected guest.

"He must be coming by the last train after all, sir," said the
housekeeper entering the room and glancing at the clock. "I suppose
these London gentlemen keep such late hours they don't understand us
country folk wanting to get to bed in decent time. You must be wanting
your supper, sir."

Mr. Higgs sighed. "I shall be glad of my supper," he said slowly, "but I
dare say our friend is hungrier still. Travelling is hungry work."

"Perhaps he is thinking over his words for the seventh day," said the
housekeeper solemnly. "Forgetting hunger and thirst and all our poor
earthly feelings in the blessedness of his work."

"Perhaps so," assented the other, whose own earthly feelings were
particularly strong just at that mome