“Bear up, old man—don’t ee gi’ way,” observed a rustic.
“Oh, you big hulking beast,” screamed an old woman. “You’ve bin and torn my best dress by a treadin’ on it wi’ yer great hob-nailed boots.”
“Mek him pay for ut, mother,” suggested a ploughman. “Give ’im in charge o’ the pleece.”
“Pleece, pleece!” shouted out the old dame.
“What’s the matter, marm?” said a constable.
“Matter, indeed! this hulking fellow has torn my gownd from my back—that’s what be the matter.”
“It can’t be helped. It was an accident, you ought to keep out of the crowd.”
At this there was a roar of laughter.
The old woman became furious.
“You’re as bad as he is,” she exclaimed, shaking her umbrella at the constable. “What good are you? What are you paid for, I should like to know? You ought to be ashamed o’ yerself to let an honest woman be used in this way!”