“Ay,” said another, “trade’s beginning to feel it a’ready. If we let ’em go on our wives and bairns ’ll be starving next winter.”
“That’s a true word, lad; that’s a true word. When d’yow think it’ll be?”
“Ah, that’s kept quiet. We shall know soon enew.”
“Ay, when it’s done.”
“Think this ’ll sattle ’em?”
“Sattle! Ay, that it will, and pretty well time. They’ll go back to Lonnon wi’ their tails twix’ their legs like the curs they are. Say, think they’ve got pistols?”
“Dunno. Sure to hev, ah sud say.”
“Oh!”
“Well, s’pose they hev? You aren’t the man to be scarred of a pop-gun, are yo’?”
“I d’know. Mebbe I should be if I hev the wuck to do. I’m scarred o’ no man.”