“Here’s parson’s very good health,” said Johnson, the butcher; and it was drunk by all present but Sim, who uttered a loud, “Yah!”
“They say he’s makkin’ up to Mrs Glaire, don’t they?” said the grocer.
“Ay, they say so,” said the butcher; “and that owd Purley’s sister and Miss Primgeon are both in a regular takkin’ about it. They’ve both been wucking slippers for him.”
“He was fine and on about Daisy Banks, to-day,” said the landlord. “I heerd, too, as Joe Banks quarrelled wi’ him for interfering ’bout her, just afore she went.”
“How did you hear that?” said the grocer.
“Joe Banks’s Missus towd mine,” said the landlord. “But, say, lads, what’s this ’bout Bultitude’s John Maine?”
“Don’t know—what?” said first one and then another.
“Why, I hear as he was seen talking to a couple of owry-looking poacher chaps, down the road—them two, as they think, had something to do wi’ Daisy Banks going off.”
“Yes, I see ’em,” said Sim; “and I see John Maine talking to ’em.”
“Regular rough couple,” continued the landlord. “They comed here just as my Missus was busy wi’ her sweeping-brush, and wanted her to buy a three-gill bottle, or give ’em a gill o’ ale for it.”