“They all went in in a ’eap, pushing Bob Pretty in front of ’em, till the room was full.  Only one man with a scythe got in, and they wouldn’t ’ave let ’im in if they’d known.  It a’most made ’em forget the tiger for the time.

“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.’

“‘Take care wot you’re saying, Henery,’ ses Bob Pretty, ’else I’ll make you prove your words.’

“‘You stole my pig,’ ses Herbert Smith.

“’Oh, ‘ave I?’ ses Bob, reaching down a ‘and o’ pork.  ’Is that your pig?’ he ses.

“‘It’s just about the size o’ my pore pig,’ ses Herbert Smith.

“‘Very usual size, I call it,’ ses Bob Pretty; ’and them ducks and hins very usual-looking hins and ducks, I call ’em, except that they don’t grow ’em so fat in these parts.  It’s a fine thing when a man’s doing a honest bisness to ’ave these charges brought agin ’im.  Dis’eartening, I call it.  I don’t mind telling you that the tiger got in at my back winder the other night and took arf a pound o’ sausage, but you don’t ‘ear me complaining and going about calling other people thieves.’

“‘Tiger be hanged,’ ses Henery Walker, who was almost certain that a loin o’ pork on the table was off ’is pig; ’you’re the only tiger in these parts.’

“Why, Henery,’ ses Bob Pretty, ‘wot are you a-thinkin’ of?  Where’s your memory?  Why, it’s on’y two or three days ago you see it and ’ad to get up a tree out of its way.’