“Let’s all go to Bob Pretty’s and take it,” ses Peter Gubbins, wot ’ad been in the Militia.

Dicky Weed shook his ’ead.  “He’d ’ave the lor on us for robbery,” he ses; “there’s nothing he’d like better.”

They talked it over till closing-time, but nobody seemed to know wot to do, and they stood outside in the bitter cold for over arf an hour still trying to make up their minds ’ow to get that hamper back.  Fust one went off ’ome and then another, and at last, when there was on’y three or four of ’em left, Henery Walker, wot prided himself on ’is artfulness, ’ad an idea.

“One of us must get Bob Pretty up ’ere to-morrow night and stand ’im a pint, or p’r’aps two pints,” he ses.  “While he’s here two other chaps must ’ave a row close by his ’ouse and pretend to fight.  Mrs. Pretty and the young ’uns are sure to run out to look at it, and while they are out another chap can go in quiet-like and get the hamper.”

It seemed a wunnerful good idea, and Bill Chambers said so; and ’e flattered Henery Walker up until Henery didn’t know where to look, as the saying is.

“And wot’s to be done with the hamper when we’ve got it?” ses Sam Jones.

“Have it drawed for agin,” ses Henery.  “It’ll ’ave to be done on the quiet, o’ course.”

Sam Jones stood thinking for a bit.  “Burn the hamper and draw lots for everything separate,” ’e ses, very slow.  “If Bob Pretty ses it’s ’is turkey and goose and spirits, tell ’im to prove it.  We sha’n’t know nothing about it.”

Henery Walker said it was a good plan; and arter talking it over they walked ’ome all very pleased with theirselves.  They talked it over next day with the other chaps; and Henery Walker said arterwards that p’r’aps it was talked over a bit too much.

It took ’em some time to make up their minds about it, but at last it was settled that Peter Gubbins was to stand Bob Pretty the beer; Ted Brown, who was well known for his ’ot temper, and Joe Smith was to ’ave the quarrel; and Henery Walker was to slip in and steal the hamper, and ’ide the things up at his place.

Bob Pretty fell into the trap at once.  He was standing at ’is gate in the dark, next day, smoking a pipe, when Peter Gubbins passed, and Peter, arter stopping and asking ’im for a light, spoke about ’is luck in getting the hamper, and told ’im he didn’t bear no malice for it.

“You ’ad the pluck to draw fust,” he ses, “and you won.”

Bob Pretty said he was a Briton, and arter a little more talk Peter asked ’im to go and ’ave a pint with ’im to show that there was no ill-feeling.  They came into this ’ere Cauliflower public-’ouse like brothers, and in less than ten minutes everybody was making as much fuss o’ Bob Pretty as if ’e’d been the best man in Claybury.

“Arter all, a man can’t ’elp winning a prize,” ses Bill Chambers, looking round.

“I couldn’t,” ses Bob.

He sat down and ‘elped hisself out o’ Sam Jones’s baccy-box; and one or two got up on the quiet and went outside to listen to wot was going on down the road.  Everybody was wondering wot was happening, and when Bob Pretty got up and said ’e must be going, Bill Chambers caught ’old of him by the coat and asked ’im to have arf a pint with ’im.