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Updated: June 17, 2025
Henery Walker started raving ag'in, and for the next few days he tried his 'ardest to get a few words with 'is great-uncle, but Bob Pretty was too much for 'im. Everybody in Claybury said wot a shame it was, but it was all no good, and Henery Walker used to leave 'is work and stand outside Bob Pretty's for hours at a time in the 'opes of getting a word with the old man.
I think he's nicer than he looks." "He's asked me to make a statuette of his daughter on horseback." "And will you?" "I don't know." "If she's really so pretty, you'd better." "Pretty's hardly the word but she's not ordinary." She turned round, and looked up at him, and instinctively he felt that something difficult to answer was coming next. "Mark." "Yes."
"Will you give me sixpence a week, too?" ses Henery Walker, jumping up. "I will," ses Bob; "and anybody else that likes. And wot's more, I'll pay in advance. Fust sixpences now." Claybury men 'ave never been backward when there's been money to be made easy, and they all wanted to join Bob Pretty's club, as he called it.
The stillness of her head and features was remarkable: she might have been in a trance, her eyes open, yet unseeing. Nothing in the picture moved but Old Pretty's tail and Tess's pink hands, the latter so gently as to be a rhythmic pulsation only, as if they were obeying a reflex stimulus, like a beating heart. How very lovable her face was to him.
"Gals is a gre't expense a gre't expense." "Now, Jabez! ye don't mean thet air," exclaimed the little old woman, coming from the kitchen. She lowered herself into the little rocker nearby, with her usual moan of, "Oh, my back! an' oh, my bones! Ye don't mean ter hurt my pretty's feelin's, I know." "She axed me!" exclaimed the miller, angrily.
We couldn't make head nor tail out of it, but for some days arterward you'd ha' thought that Bob Pretty's 'ouse was a peep-show. Everybody stared at the winders as they went by, and the children played in front of the 'ouse and stared in all day long.
Parsley, putting 'is 'and on the table and going off into a fit of coughing; 'it's just gone into Bob Pretty's cottage. I was passing and saw it. "George Kettle snatches up 'is gun and shouts out to 'is men to come along.
We couldn't make head nor tail out of it, but for some days arterward you'd ha' thought that Bob Pretty's 'ouse was a peep-show. Everybody stared at the winders as they went by, and the children played in front of the 'ouse and stared in all day long.
Bunnett couldn't believe 'em at fast, but arter they 'ad told 'im of Bob's poaching and the artful ways and tricks he 'ad of getting money as didn't belong to 'im 'e began to think different. He spoke to parson about 'im, and arter that 'e said he never wanted for to see Bob Pretty's face again.
"Pretty's all right!" joined in Billy Long. "Only one thing wrong with him. He starts easy, and he speeds up well, but just at the critical moment he always skids." "Hear the motor talk from Short and Long! Yow!" exclaimed Reddy Butts. "And old Purt's not so slow at that!" "Who said he was slow?" demanded Short and Long, with apparent indignation. "Bet you can't do him, Reddy."
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