Col. G. There are ten thousands girls in London you might take for your own under such circumstances—not seeing more than the backs of them.
Th. Ten theawsand girls like mo Mattie, saysto?—wi'her greight eighes and her lung yure?—Puh!
Col. G. But you've just said you didn't see her face!
Th. Dunnot aw know what th' face ov mo chylt be like, beout seein' ov it? Aw'm noan ov a lump-yed. Nobory as seigh her once wouldn't know her again.
Col. G. (aside). He's a lunatic!—I don't see what I can do for you, old fellow.
Th. (rising). And aw met ha' known it beout axin'! O'reet! Aw're a greight foo'! But aw're beawn to coom in: aw lung'd to goo through th' same dur wi' mo Mattie. Good day, sir. It be like maister, like mon! God's curse upon o' sich! (Turns his back. After a moment turns again.) Noa. Aw winnot say that; for mo Mattie's sake aw winnot say that. God forgie you! (going by the house).
Col. G. This way, please! (opening the street-door).
Th. Aw see. Aw'm not to have a chance ov seein' oather Mattie or th' mon. Exit.
Col. G. resumes his boot absently. Re-enter THOMAS, shaking his
fist.
Th. But aw tell tho, aw'll stick to th' place day and neet, aw wull. Aw wull. Aw wull.