‘So I slips acrost the road and was just in the middle of my ’alf-pint when I ’ears a train comin’,[Pg I peaks out o’ the window and sees it come in from the westward. “That fare to be my train,” I says to myself, and drinks my beer as quick as I can and goos acrost to the station again. But they shet the door just as I come in.
‘“Where’s that train a goin’, mate?” I says to the porter what I seed afore.
‘“Lunnon,” says ’e.
‘“Yaou tould me there warn’t no daown train for twenty minutes,” I says.
‘“No more there ain’t,” ’e says; “that’s an up train.”
‘Well, that warn’t no use a argyin’ with he, and from what I could make of it that don’t fare to matter whether folks lives above Lunnon or below ut. No one don’t take no notice o’ that, but allus says they is a goin’ up to Lunnon.
‘They Lunnoners allus reckon to knaow more’n we country folk, but us knaow better an that. Yes, yes; up on the flood, daown on the ebb; and that ain’t a mite o’ use tryin’ to tell me different.’