nd turned to Drill.

"It's no good spoiling the ship for a ha'porth o' tar," he said, with a
faint suspicion of a wink. "No," said Drill, looking puzzled.

"Anything that's worth doing at all is worth doing well," continued the
constable, "and while I'm drinking another glass with Mr. Gunnill here,
suppose you go into the kitchen with that useful bag o' yours and finish
repairing my truncheon?"

THE PERSECUTION OF BOB PRETTY

The old man sat on his accustomed bench outside the Cauliflower. A
generous measure of beer stood in a blue and white jug by his elbow, and
little wisps of smoke curled slowly upward from the bowl of his
churchwarden pipe. The knapsacks of two young men lay where they were
flung on the table, and the owners, taking a noon-tide rest, turned a
polite, if bored, ear to the reminiscences of grateful old age.

Poaching, said the old man, who had tried topics ranging from early
turnips to horseshoeing--poaching ain't wot it used to be in these 'ere
parts. Nothing is like it used to be, poaching nor anything else; but
that there man you might ha' noticed as went out about ten minutes ago
and called me "Old Truthfulness" as 'e passed is the worst one I know.
Bob Pretty 'is name is, and of all the sly, artful, deceiving men that
ever lived in Claybury 'e is the worst--never did a honest day's work in
'is life and never wanted the price of a glass of ale.

[Illustration: "Poaching," said the old man, "ain't wot it used to be in
these 'ere parts."]

Bob Pretty's worst time was just after old Squire Brown died. The old
squire couldn't afford to preserve much, but by-and-by a gentleman with
plenty o' money, from London, named Rockett, took 'is place and things
began to look up. Pheasants was 'is favourites, and 'e spent no end o'
money rearing of 'em, but anything that could be shot at suited 'im, too.

He started by sneering at the little game that Squire Brown 'ad left, but
all 'e could do didn't seem to make much difference; things disappeared
in a most eggstrordinary way, and the keepers went pretty near crazy,
while the things the squire said about Claybury and Claybury men was
disgraceful.

Everybody knew as it was Bob Pretty and one or two of 'is mates from
other places, but they couldn't prove it. They couldn't catch 'im nohow,
and at last the squire 'ad two keepers set off to watch 'im by night and
by day.

Bob Pretty wouldn't believe it; he said 'e couldn't. And even when it