“I can’t make out how it is, he’s so different. I suppose it’s being in love——”
We went into the barn to get the bicycles to cycle over to Greymede. George struck a match to look for his pump, and he noticed a great spider scuttle off into the corner of the wall, and sit peeping out at him like a hoary little ghoul.
“How are you, old chap?” said George, nodding to him—“Thought he looked like an old grandfather of mine,” he said to me, laughing, as he pumped up the tyres of the old bicycle for me.
It was Saturday night, so the bar parlour of the Ram Inn was fairly full.
“Hello, George—come co’tin’?” was the cry, followed by a nod and a “Good evenin’,” to me, who was a stranger in the parlour.
“It’s a raïght for thaïgh,” said a fat young fellow with an unwilling white mustache, “—tha can co’te as much as ter likes ter ’ae, as well as th’ lass, an’ it costs thee nöwt——” at which the room laughed, taking pipes from mouths to do so. George sat down, looking round.
“ ’Owd on a bit,” said a black-whiskered man, “tha mun ’a ’e patience when tu ’t co’tin’ a lass. Ow’s puttin’ th’ öwd lady ter bed—’ark thee—can t’ ear—that wor th’ bed latts goin’ bang. Ow’ll be dern in a minnit now, gie ’er time ter tuck th’ öwd lady up. Can’ ter ’ear ’er say ’er prayers.”
“Strike!” cried the fat young man, exploding:
“Fancy th’ öwd lady sayin’ ’er prayers!—it ’ud be enough ter ma’e ’er false teeth drop out.”
The room laughed.
